The Long Way Home
by somethinginthewayful
Summary: Picks up after the Christmas party in ASiB, Molly is attacked leaving her spending the night with John and Sherlock at 221B. Weeks later the events of The Fall take place, Molly and Sherlock grow closer as he struggles with faking his death. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Saving Molly Hooper

_**The Long Way Home**_

**A/N: I started writing this little ficlet before Reichenbach, but then after the amazing Molly/Sherlock scenes I decided to weave my story through in a (sort of) canon. Starting directly after the Xmas party, the story follows Molly as she gets attacked and how this changes the way Sherlock is around her. Their relationship will get fleshed out once we get to Reichenbach. **

**Please R&R and I hope you enjoy it! **

Molly Hooper had left the Christmas party at 221B Baker Street a bit early. She had smiled and told everyone she was knackered and allowed John to walk her to the door, adding an apology for Sherlock of his own. She nodded, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks at the fresh memory and slipped out of the flat, not a word exchanged with Sherlock.

Looking along the length of Baker Street she noticed very few cars, and not a single cab to hail for her trip home. Sighing sullenly she wrapped her coat tighter around herself and mentally chided herself for her choice in shoes and uncomfortable undergarments. What did she really think was going to happen tonight? He was Sherlock after all, a man married to his work who had never shown the littlest bit of honest interest in her. And she had bought him a bloody present.

Thankfully London had not been blanketed in snow and after a block Molly slipped off her painful platforms and tucked them into the empty gift bag, crossing another empty London street in stockinged feet. She felt like a fool.

Passing a pub she glanced inside at the small groups of laughing friends and whispering lovers, some part of her wished she was one of them and not the awkward spinster who smelled of death and talked to a cat. Tears filled up in her eyes but she blinked them back and kept walking.

Behind her she could clearly hear the grumblings of a drunk man and she started to pick up her pace, the hairs on her arm rising with nervousness.

"Hey!" the gruff voice shouted but before Molly could break into a jog a hand clasped around her upper arm and pulled her back into a firm chest.

"Get off me!" she pushed back, her brown bag slipping from her hand and crumpling on the ground by their feet, "I said, Get off!"

"Don't you want to have a drink with me?" he smelled of whiskey.

"No, I don't, thank you," polite even while being assaulted, fabulously handled, Molly.

He pushed the shoulder of her coat off, revealing her neck and the man grinned, tightening his hand on her. Molly looked to the pub over her shoulder and opened her mouth to call out. In this moment, with her eyes off the attacker, he swiftly pushed her back into the brick wall of a building, her temple colliding with the side. She let out a sharp cry, but that was all she could manage, his fingers were around her throat in an instant and "Help" died on her paling lips.

Sherlock's face momentarily flashed in her mind and she wished that somehow he would find her, tear the attacker off her and gather her in his arms, soothing words and kisses to the forehead. Molly almost laughed at herself as she struggled, she was so foolish to think Sherlock could care.

Air was suddenly flushed into her lungs as she was turned over, coat now removed and her body pushed farther back into the nearby alley. Fear gripped her as she listened to her dress rip from top to bottom, torn off her back and slumping down her arms. The heels of her hands and her knees were digging into the gravel as he bit down on her shoulder, pushing down her body and causing her to wheeze.

She had to get out from under him, she knew that if she stayed in this position for much longer it would soon be her underwear torn off and things would escalate. As the man lifted his face from her and delivered a jab to her lower back Molly allowed herself to drop to the ground and take the moment out of his hands to quickly roll over, jabbing upwards with the heel of her hand into his nose. He cried out in his drunked stupor and gripped his bloody nose. For good measure she kicked him swiftly in the balls and watched him crumple.

Leaving her dress behind and grabbing up her coat she wrapped it around her haphazardly and ran forwards out of he alley, heading back in the direction of 221B Baker Street.

Her head was fuzzy from the blow to it and she could feel the blood trickeling down the side of her face, her throat was throbbing too which added to the disorientation. Falling against a gate she fumbled for her mobile tucked in her coat pocket and scrolled through her contacts. She wanted to call Sherlock, but logic won her over and she scrolled a few names over.

It rang three times and a warm voice said, "Hey, Molly, did you forget something?"

Molly struggled for words for a moment but finally managed, "John,"

"Jesus," she heard him say through her foggy thoughts, "Molly are you alright?"

"I need help," she managed through her crackling voice and she coughed. Looking up at the number on the building near her she tried again, "324 Paddington, please,"

"I'm coming Molly," she heard words of confusion in the background from the party she had recenly quitted, "Just stay on with me okay,"

"Okay," she wheezed.

"Are you safe, Molly? Where you are?"

She opened her mouth to answer but froze when she heard Sherlock's deep voice in the background ask, "Ask her injuries, John, quickly, we may not have enough time,"  
>John's voice came again, "Molly are you with me? How badly hurt are you?"<p>

"Ok," she managed, "Safe for now,"

"Okay, good, that's good Molly," she heard a muffling sound and imagined John covering the reciever with his hand and giving an update to Sherlock and Lestrade, his voice returned again, "Paddington isn't far, you know that, we'll be there soon, okay,"

She made a small groan in agreement, speaking was becoming difficult.

"Molly," John's voice came again, "are you bleeding?"

"Yes," she touched the side of her face and looked at her red fingers, "Head,"

"Christ," John's voice sounded grave, "Okay, you're fine, Molly, we're almost-"

"There!" Sherlock's voice could be heard through the reciever and cutting through the cold air, she almost smiled.

She let the phone fall from her hands as she pulled the coat tighter around her and opened her eyes wider, leaning to look towards his voice. John, Sherlock, and Lestrade ran forwards towards her, John and Lestrade immediately crouching by herside to take stock of her injuries while Sherlock ran slightly past and looked around the street, finally he returned his eyes to Molly.

John touched her face lightly, "Hey, Molly, can you hear me?"

"Yes," she tried but then tapped her throat.

"She's been strangled," Sherlock stated, "and quite well from the look of the bruises."

"Sherlock!" John scolded at his indelicate words and shook his head.

"I'm okay," she tried and tried to steady her breath as John examined her head wound.

He nodded in agreement, "Let's get you back to Baker Street, we'll tend to you there and then you'll stay the night with us,"

"Ta," she nodded and allowed them to help her back up, her hands still furiously clutching at the coat. A warm hand grasped her under the elbow lightly and helped to push her up, she looked back at Sherlock's piercing blue eyes- full of fury and terror. She shuddered but ligthly nodded her thanks to him.

"Can you walk?" Sherlock questioned lightly.

She nodded.

She watched as John and Sherlock exchanged a look and Lestrade took the moment to question her too, "Did you know who did this to you, Molly?"

She shook her head.

"Just a little further," John promised as they made it up Baker Street, Speedy's Cafe and the door to 221B in sight.

Once upstairs they settled her on the couch, Mrs. Hudson had prepared tea and was fluttering all about with her occassional chip in of, "Dear Lord!" and "poor thing!"

The three men settled around her, John on the table in front of her to tend to her minor head wound and Lestrade and Sherlock on either side of her. While Lestrade was angled towards her Sherlock knees pointed straight out, his eyes focused on her throat and his hands clasped furiously together.

"Where did this happen Molly?" Lestrade asked gently.

She gave the name of the pub lightly, "Near there,"

"Okay, Good," Lestrade stood and flipped open his phone, calling his people there and giving a few directions to his team, "I'm going to go oversee, I'll can get your statement later, okay?"

She nodded and watched him, suddenly she was alone with Sherlock and John and her stomach tightened. She didn't want this coat to come off, but she was afraid John would insist so he could look at her injuries.

"The cut on your head isn't too bad, Molly," John assured, "you're doing fine."

She smiled weakly, "Thank you for coming, both of you," she croaked.

"Of course," John smiled.

"You should inspect her throat, John," Sherlock cut in harshly.

John nodded without glancing to his friend and gingerly touched the bruises around her throat, "There's a little swelling, which is why you're having trouble speaking, but it should go down after a little time, no permanent damage," He gave her a smile.

She shifted slighty to allow John to look at the side of her neck and felt her long black coat part over her knee, exposing it to the air.

Her eyes slipped closed, catching sight of Sherlock glancing down just before.

"Molly," Sherlock's voice was hard and she knew exactly what he was thinking, "your attacker, did he..."

Her eyes opened and she turned her head, glancing back and forth between the two men, "No," she murmured.

"Your knees," he stated simply.

She licked her dry lips and looked at the torn stockings and bloody knees, "He tried," she admitted, "but I fought,"

Sherlock's jaw set and his hands turned to white-knucked fists. John took in his reaction and drew Molly's attention away from him, "That's good, you did really well, and you're safe now,"

"I know," she breathed.

"I'm going to get some more bandages for your knees, are you injured... anywhere... else?"

She noticibly shuddered and weakly nodded, there was no use denying it. She awkwardly shifted the shoulder of the coat down, making sure it didn't slip down on the front but only in the back, she hissed slightly as the thick coat pulled away from the bleeding teeth marks.

Sherlock saw it first and his warm fingers brushed the skin below it before shouting, "Brilliant!"

"Sherlock!" John cried and Molly's face fell.

"Oh, no, Molly," Sherlock assured, "your attacker was missing two teeth," the fingers that lingered on her back became a soft warm palm that soothed whether he realised it or not, "that means we can find him much more easily,"

She nodded and leaned her head forwards into her hands, letting out a long breath.

"Molly, are you light headed? Dizzy?" John checked.

"No," she murmured, "Bloody brilliant Christmas," she croaked out after.

A small sympathetic smile appeared on John's face, "But you've done brilliantly, Molly, and when I get these things cleaned up we can put you to bed, and everything will be fine in the morning."

"Okay,"

She felt John leave and she looked up at Sherlock who's eyes were studying her bitten shoulder "Thank you," she managed

"You've already said that," he stated .

"I know," she murmured, "but I mean it, I didn't think you'd come,"

His eyes snapped to hers and she could have sworn something like hurt flashed across his feautres before he regained cool composure, "Why wouldn't I?"

"I just..." she wanted to explain but words were caught in her throat, "you've never really... liked me, I guess... I thought..."

Sherlock's jaw set again before he opened his mouth and shook his head, "It would not matter if you were my arch nemesis, Molly Hooper, you did not deserve this. No one does,"

She looked away, her eyes glossing, "Thank you,"

He nodded and removed his hand from her back, shifting awkwardly and gingerly patting her forearm, "There, there,"

She let out an awkward laugh and Sherlock scowled, "What?"

"You," she swallowed painfully, "trying to console me,"

"Well I've never really had to console an assaulted woman before," he returned to his orignial resigned position, "It's not really my... area,"

She nodded, "Thought that counts,"

John returned then from around the corner and although he wanted to mention what he just witnessed between the two of them, he thought it best to let it lie there, "Alright Molly, a bit of mercurochrome and bandanges and we can let you sleep,"

"Thanks,"

Once the bandages were on and John had helped her stand up they all stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to figure out where she would sleep.

"Take my room," Sherlock spoke up first, much to John's surprise, "I'll... show you,"

She smiled gently and shuffled to follow him, John in tow.

"You can borrow a nightshirt if you need," Sherlock cleared his throat and held one out to her.

"Ta," she coughed gently into her coat sleeve and groaned lightly.

"Well," John shuffled backwards and nodded his head for Sherlock to follow, "if you need anything during the night, call,"

"Right," she turned towards the bed, "Thanks again,"

"Of course, Molly," John said.

And Sherlock added, "Sleep... well," as he awkwardly glanced around his room and inwardly hoped she didn't snoop.

As they backed out of the room and pulled the door to a close silently Sherlock watched the coat slip off her shoulders to a puddle at her feet. In that fraction of a second he noted several things about Molly Hooper. A bruise was forming on her lower back, another area in which her attacker had brutalized her as well as the shadowy bruise of a hand print on her thigh. He mentally marked her measurements, skin tone, and work-out regimine and cleared his throat as he turned to look back at John.

"What was that?" John said in a hushed tone, heading towards the foyer.

"What, John?"

"Letting her have your room, your night shirt... being so kind to her," he said.

Sherlock raised an eye brow and set his teeth before barking out, "She was attacked John, I was merely trying to help her since you seemed so keen to bring her back to the flat," he looked to the mantle and then back to face him, "I have to phone Lestrade,"

"What for?"

"To tell them where to find her attacker," Sherlock dialed his mobile and pressed it to his ear, "her injuries tell more than the crime scene,"

"Lestrade," the voice in his ear spoke.

"Have you found him, yet?" he inquired harshly.

"No, there are obvious signs of a struggle in the alley but he's not here anymore,"

"You're looking for a man about six foot one, he was drunk when he hurt Molly so I'd ask the bar for a facial description of anyone stumbling out. He was missing two bottom teeth near the front of the mouth and he was wearing a camel coloured coat with brown buttons, an obvious knock off, and he had light brown hair. He was right handed, and had an old injury to his left arm, ring me back as soon as you catch him."

"Thanks," Lestrade said but the phone was already being clicked off.

There was a long pause before John looked up, "A camel coloured coat?"

"There were camel coloured fibres on Molly's coat and a brown button fell off of her when she stood back on Padington Street,"

"Right," John paused and looked up at his friend, "Are you okay?"

"Of course, John," Sherlock bounced down onto the couch, checking his phone briefly before raising the volume and placing it on the table

"You seem a bit, on edge," John started, "it's understandable, seeing your friend go through something like that, I just,"

"Molly Hooper is not my friend," Sherlock corrected.

"Fine, colleague," John clarified, clearly irritated.

"John, seeing as how she is neither a consulting detective nor a member of the Scotland Yard she can hardly be considered a colleague. Acquaintance, perhaps,"

"Dammit, Sherlock, she came to our bloody Christmas party the least you could do is acknowledge she's got some role in your life,"

Sherlock laid back on the couch and turned his head sharply to John, "Fine, Molly is a... colleague," he couldn't quite get out 'friend', "and yes, I don't enjoy seeing her in distress, but I am perfectly fine, it is her you should be worried about if you want to worry about something,"

A small smile came over John, "Right, okay, I'm going to bed, if you need me let me know,"

"Fine,"

"Fine," John rolled his eyes and shut himself up in his bedroom.

Through the wall Molly Hooper was softly crying, her head was pounding and shoulder was achining. Burying herself deeper into Sherlock's bed she breathed in his scent and shut her eyes tightly, taking comfort in knowing he was just outside the door.

**A/N: End of part one, and most of 'A Scandal in Belgravia'. For the record, the plot with Irene is going to be skimmed over, because it's mostly from Molly's POV I think putting in a lot of Irene would be confusing and irrelavant. I hope you enjoyed it, if so drop me a review and onto Chapter Two! **


	2. Night Terrors

**A/N: Welcome to Chapter Two! This is a shorter, somewhat transitional chapter. Some necessary information but the real Reichenbach-plot stuff starts next chapter. Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah, you know that already. **

Molly woke with a start, something was covering her face and she struggled to get herself free, her throat constricting as she cried out, "No, stop it!"

The lights flashed on brightly, blinding and startling her simultaneously. She clapped a hand over her mouth as she sat up in bed, trying desperately to flood air into her lungs to no avail.

"John!" Sherlock's voice boomed from the door way and he hesitated, watching the her struggle for breath.

She sat in the middle of the bed, her hair mussed but curled around her face gently as she wheezed, gripping her bare knee with one hand and waving the other as if to push the air into her body.

Shelock took a step forwards, "Molly, you've got to breath,"

She threw him a dangerous glance and struggled to get control of the hyperventilation, it felt as if her lungs were starving, burning her from the inside out.

"Molly," Sherlock tried again, "Look at me," she did and his eyes softened gently, "relax, you're just frightened, it's only me, just breath,"

Molly was still floundering but she concentrated on Sherlock's eyes, icy blue and willing her to get control. Air gushed into her lungs and she spluttered, coughing and shuddering, "I... I..."

"It's alright," he assured as John stumbled bleary eyed into the door frame.

"What's going on? Is she alright?"

"Fine," she managed, "Sorry, I'm so sorry,"

"She had a panic attack," Sherlock smoothed over, "probably triggered from a nightmare given the assault, she's fine now, sorry we've woken you,"

John looked confused between the two of them, eyeing Sherlock warily, "Right,"

Molly looked down at herself and finally noticed that her legs were exposed, Sherlock's nightshirt barely covering herself up. Her mouth fell open slightly and she grappled for the bed sheet to pull over her bruised legs.

John glanced down awkwardly but Sherlock remained looking at her, his compusre not cracked at all.

Molly's face flushed and she looked up at them, "Well thank you, I'm sorry I woke you, I.."

"It's qute alright," John assured her, "just try and get some more rest before morning,"

She nodded and looked sheepishly down at her cut palms. As they left she looked up, "Sherlock!" he turned, "Thank you,"

"It's nothing," he nodded.

"Not to me," she gave him a smile, "so thanks,"

"You're..." he glanced down to the floor and then back up at her before leaving the room, "welcome, Molly Hooper," as the door clicked shut he padded back towards the couch and settled back into uncomfortable silence, "Molly Hooper..."

In the morning Molly felt significantly better as the morning light streamed through the cracks in Sherlock's curtains and onto her face. Though her neck was stiff and her body sore, her throat felt better and her head was no longer pounding. Pulling the sheets off her she looked around the room and located a dressing gown, slipping it around her she tied the sash and crept forwards towards the door. Pressing her ear to the wood she heard the sounds of rattling in the kitchen and hushed murmuring.

Molly straightened herself out and pulled the door open, quietly padding out and standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

"Morning Molly," Sherlock said without turning, the paper open before him and a cup of coffee in his hand, "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, th-thank you," she cleared her throat and took a few steps forwards.

"Like some tea, Molly?" John asked, "I'm just making myself a cuppa,"

"Tea would be lovely, thanks," she smiled and took the seat next to Sherlock, tucking a straggling piece of hair behind her ear.

"That's my dressing gown," Sherlock noted, voice dead panned.

"Yes, oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just..." she blushed lightly and went to stand up again.

"No, no, it's fine," Sherlock waved her back without lifting his eyes from the paper, "merely making an observation."

"Right," Molly glaced at John who shot her a sympathetic look.

A few moments of silence later John presented her cup of tea and took his own seat, "you sound better today Molly, how's your throat feeling?"

"Better," she nodded, "thanks again for everything,"

"Of course," John smiled warmly, it wasn't every day they had a woman waking up with them in the flat, "you should still get a doctor with proper supplies to look at the bite mark," Sherlock glaced up at her briefly as John continued, "but you should heal up just fine,"

"Ta," she nodded and sipped her tea, "Well, I'll just finish this and gather up my things and get out of your hair,"

"You can stay as long as you need," John said politely, even though deep down he had a list of things he needed to accomplish and he knew Sherlock was probably itching to get rid of her, "it's no bother,"

She smiled and briefly considered asking to use the shower but thought better of it, "No, no, it's fine, I've got a lot of things to do,"

Sherlock sighed and shut the paper, "No word on a new case,"

"Have you checked the blog?" John asked looking up.

"Yes," Sherlock groaned, "not a thing... and I've got nothing more on Irene Adler, yet,"

"Hmmm," John murmured

Molly looked up at Sherlock, "Irene Adler?"

"Yes," Sherlock flipped over the paper and studied the back page, not bothering to look at Molly, "I'm investigating her as a favour to my brother, a dominatrix with state secrets as it were,"

Molly paled and sipped her tea nervously, "Oh,"

Sherlock stood, crossing the room to retrieve his lap top to check the blog page one last time.

Silence hung in the air and Molly finally decided it was time to go, "Right, well, I'll just get myself together then,"

"Sure, Molly?" John said.

"Yes, positive, I've just got to get sorted," Molly smiled and stood, slipping back down the hall and into Sherlock's room without another word.

She slipped of his dressing gown and unbuttoned his night shirt, folding them both neatly and placing them on the chair. She quickly made up his bed, took one last look around and slipped into her large black winter coat, making sure every button was done up. Pulling a pair of roll-up flats from her coat pocket she slipped them on, thanking heaven she remembered to stow them in her coat and not the paper bag in the alley.

She left the room and shut the door tightly, softly walking out back into the main room where Sherlock clicked away at his laptop and John still sat sipping on his tea.

"I'll just... be off them," Molly turned to leave but John stood up and hurried over to her.

"I'll order you a cab," he looked her over briefly and realised it was obvious she wasn't wearing much under the coat, "Can I get you... a jumper or something? You'll freeze,"

"No, no, I'm fine," she laughed lightly, "Mortuaries are colder than this,"

There was an awkward chuckle from John and he nodded, "Right, I'll just get that cab," He left her standing by the half open door, she wasn't sure whether to follow or stay.

She knotted her fingers together and finally looked at the man on the couch, "Sherlock,"

"Hmm?"

"I know I've said it before, but I just wanted to thank you again, properly," she swallowed, "it means a lot to me, what you did, so thanks,"

Sherlock shut the laptop and stood, stepping on the table and walking over to her, "And again, you're most welcome,"

She smiled but he continued, "John's right, you know, you'll catch your death,"

She looked down at the swath of exposed skin that her coat didn't quite cover, "I'll manage,"

"Your neck is heavily bruised as well," he noted.

She lightly brused the tender skin with her cold fingertips, "Yes, well,"

Sherlock reached behind her, over her shoulder and grasped his less-worn gray scarf off the hook on the wall, "Here," he smoothly folded the scarf and gently looped in around her neck.

"Oh, I couldn't," she was surprised her voice hadn't gone just from his near proximity.

"Nonsense," he took a step back, "your present will take its place until I get it back,"

"Oh, you opened it?" She smiled.

"Of course," he looked puzzled, "it was addressed to me,"

"Oh nothing, I just thought for a moment that you..." she shifted uncomfortably, "might not have opened it, or something,"

"No," he said, "it's very nice,"

She smiled and the moment was broken when John returned to the room, obviously noting Sherlock's scarf around her neck but saying nothing, "Cab's here, Molly,"

"Thank you, John," she walked down with him, "Bye Sherlock,"

There was no reply.

**A/N: I hope you're enjoying the story, I enjoyed writing it. Please drop me a review if you did! Now, continue onto Chapter Three for some Reichenbach-ness. **


	3. The Reichenbach Fall

**A/N: Hello lovelies, this is chapter three and picks up in Reichenbach where we first see Molly. I have changed the time between the end of Scandal and the beginning of Reichenbach to about 6 or so weeks, I understand that doesn't really work if you look at it through the episodes purely, but for the sake of the Sherlolly, go with it. Thank you. :) **

**Disclaimer: Not mine, it's all ACD and Mofftiss. **

It was weeks before Molly saw Sherlock again. Her injuries had completely healed and she was back to doing her job day in and day out at the mortuary, cutting up bodies and hoping Sherlock would pop in to using his riding crop on them. But he never came.

She had received two phone calls from John and one text from Sherlock about two weeks after that morning on Baker Street. It said simply, "_Lestrade caught your attacker, known serial rapist. Found dead this morning in Suffolk. - SH_"

She hadn't bothered to reply.

Now it was six weeks later and she had had a trying morning at the lab. Looking forward to her blind lunch date, Molly was going to go home, slip on something a bit more becoming and head out to meet "Peter" - her best friend at the morgue had said he was a perfect match for her, not to mention a distraction from Sherlock Holmes.

Shrugging on her tan jacket and pulling up her striped bag on her shoulder the doors pushed open before her and Sherlock and John appeared.

"Molly!" Sherlock seemed genuinely pleased to find her and she sighed.

"Oh, hello," she gave a small tight smile, "I was just going out,"

Sherlock placed his hands on her arms and spun her round, beginning to march them forwards, "No you're not,"

"I've got a lunch date," she replied awkwardly, still being propelled forwards.

"Cancel it," he dropped his hand off her back and strode forward, "you're having lunch with me,"

Her stomach flipped, "What?"

He pulled two bags of crisps from his pockets and held them in the air for her to appraise, her stomach settled and he continued talking, "I need your help. One of your old boyfriends, I'm trying to track him down, he's been a bit naughty."

As Sherlock gripped the door handle in front of him John piped in, "It's Moriarty?"

"Of course it's Moriarty,"

"Um, Jim actually wasn't my boyfriend," she piped in, "we only went out three times," she saw the boredom on his face but continued to clarify, "I ended it..."

"Yes, and then he stole the crown jewels, broke into the bank of England and organized a prison break at Pentonville, for the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly" he raised a crisp bag out of his pocket and raised his eyebrows, pushing past the doors and into her lab.

Hesitating she looked after them, glanced back, and finally followed, resigning to help him however he needed.

Moments later she was fetching books he needed and records, not analysing data like a pathologist should. She pushed through the doors again with a pile of books.

"Oil, John," Sherlock was saying to Doctor Watson, "The oil in the kindnapper's footprint will lead us to Moriarty." Sherlock held up some vials and ran a few things through a scanner, "All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. Sole of the shoe is like a passport, if we're lucky we can see all that he's been up to,"

Molly pulled on some latex gloves and stepped forward to help. Sherlock pointed a finger over at the carousel of samples, "I need that analysis,"

She took it, and did as he instructed, making sure to account for everything she did in case he asked, "Alkaline," she noted.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock mumbled absent mindedly

"Molly," she corrected, rolling her eyes slightly

"Yes," he responded automatically.

Molly tended to her own analysis but listened as Sherlock made notes and tested and retested a few key pieces. Finally he murmured, "I.O.U... Glyceral molecule..." he sighed, clearly exasperated, "What are you?"

Not looking up from her own work Molly murmured, "What did you mean, I.O.U? You said... I.O.U? You were muttering it while you were working,"

"Nothing," he cut her off, "mental note,"

There was a pause and Molly looked up at his frowning features, "You're a bit like my dad. He's dead," she fumbled, "no, sorry,"

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation, it's really not your area,"

She gritted her teeth at his demeaning tone but tried to find her words again, she had a point and she wanted to make him hear it, "When he was dying he was always cheerful, he was lovely, except when he thought no one could see... I saw him once, he looked sad,"

"Molly," Sherlock warned but she pressed on.

"You look sad," she glanced at John who was working on something of his own, "when you think he can't see you,"

Sherlock followed her glance and finally tore himself away from the microscope to look at Molly who spoke again, "Are you okay? And don't just say that you are because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you,"

"You can see me," he said softly.

"I don't count," she replied quickly, looking down, "what I'm trying to say is that if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me," she fumbled again, "No, I just mean, I mean, if there's anything you need..." she drew off, "it's fine,"

There was a beat of silence, "But... what could I need from you?"

She inwardly cringed, "Nothing, I dunno, you could probably say 'thank you' actually,"

His eyes narrowed a moment as he took in her appearance and a strange crooked smile briefly flashed across his mouth as he finally heard what she was trying to say, "Thank you," he mimiced

She crossed behind him and said, "I'm just gonna go and get some crisps, do you want anything?" She remembered his rule about not eating on a case, and he hadn't touched the bags of crisps he brought earlier, "It's okay, I know you don't,"

He was searching for the socially polite thing to do, "Well maybe actually I..."

"I know you don't," she caught his bluff and turned to leave the lab, feeling Sherlock's eyes on her until she finally pushed out the swinging doors.

She headed down to the vending machines, chastising herself for trying to connect with him. She was his friend, he may not be hers, but she was his, and she was going to at least try and help even if it made her look like a fool in the process. She was a smart girl, and maybe she wasn't the most gorgeous, or make the best jokes, but she was damn good at her job and was damn good at being a friend.

When she returned to the lab she had a packet of crisps tucked in her pocket for Sherlock, just in case, but they were gone. Her lab in disarry and the chair pushed out from the wall where he had been sitting, they were gone again. Who knows when she would see him again.

Later that evening Molly was shutting down the lab, she had passed up another date to be walked over again by Sherlock and John. She would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it.

She clicked off the final light and headed for the door, sighing and reaching for the handle.

"You're wrong you know," Molly nearly screamed at the familiar deep voice from behind her and she turned abruptly around, looking at Sherlock's tall and imposing form in her lab, "You do count," he began again, "you've always counted and I've always trusted you," there was a deep pause as she caught her breath and he turned to her, "But you were right, I'm not okay,"

She didn't hesitate, "Tell me what's wrong,"

"Molly," he started to move towards her, "I think I'm going to die," her stomach sank at the words as she saw his eyes glistening with tears.

"What do you need?"

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am," he said, "Everything that _I _think I am, would you still want to help me?"

She was surprised he even had to ask, "What do you need?" she repeated, again without hesitation.

Sherlock took a step towards her, his hand reaching out slightly to her from his side, eyes incredulous and burning, voice nearly cracking as he said, "You."

The air was thick between them and Molly blinked, "Anything," she responded.

Sherlock nodded and gently took her forearm, "I have a plan, but I need you to make it work," he was sounding a bit like his old deducting self as he clicked on the lights in the lab, "I have to fool everyone, Moriarty, Lestrade, fool John... into thinking I'm dead,"

"Okay, then why come to me?" she pulled her bag strap over her shoulder and set it down on the floor by the door.

"Because you don't count, not to Moriarty," he sat on the stool and gestured for her to sit by him, "he is targeting the people I... care about. John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade... he doesn't realise that you're on the radar at all, that I trust you as much as I trust them,"

She smiled at the comment and sat down on the stool, leaning forward to hear more, their knees almost brushing, "Thank you,"

He ignored the thanks and continued, "You're the key to saving my life Molly, I'll need you to help me appear dead and when I'm taken in to the morgue, I'll need you to be the examiner on duty and smuggle me out,"

"I understand," she said, "do you know how specifically?"

"I need you to get a friend, or pay someone if necessary, a man is preferable, to call John's mobile around dawn, have him tell John that he's from a hospital, that Mrs. Hudson has been shot and is critical condition, that she gave him the number for John's phone and he must come immediately," Sherlock began.

"Okay, I can do that," she nodded and took down a few notes on a pad of paper.

"While we're here in the lab we need to make a compound, one that makes me appear dead, John will certainly want to examine my body and I will need to have no detectable pulse,"

"Right," she nodded.

"I will also need you to take a pint or so of my blood," he was hatching the plot in his brain as he spoke.

"After you have your friend call John, go to the front entrance of St. Bart's, every morning there is a truck that carries bedding and such for the rooms, stand between it and the building, you'll wait for me there with the blood and the substance to make me seem dead. If my plan goes as it should Moriarty will die with me, I'll take him over the side of the building, but I myself will be aiming for the truck full of bedding,"

"What if you miss?" she sqeaked.

"It's a chance I'm willing to take, but I assure you, I've done the calculations," Sherlock glanced at her worried eyes.

"Once I've jumped and landed in the bedding I will roll out and onto the street where you will be waiting. You will need to _quickly_ douse me in my own blood and administer the drug, there will be only seconds for you to do this, do you understand?"

"Yes,"

"Good," Sherlock nodded,"after that you'll need to disappear, go to the morgue, wait for my body, but do no let yourself be seen by John,"

"John will be there?" she asked.

"He'll have to be, to make him believe that I've died," Sherlock swallowed, "I'll have a messenger boy on a bike paid to knock him over in the street after he's seen me jump, that way you'll have just long enough to do what you have to and John will be too disoriented to understand my plan. By the time he makes it to me I'll look dead, and you'll long gone,"

Molly nodded, "Sherlock," she looked up into his eyes, "what about after?"

"Well, you come back into play at the morgue. Just unzip the body bag, wait for me to come to, and then get me out of there..." he paused, "Would it be alright if I stayed a night or two at your flat until things have died down enough for me slip out of London unnoticed?"

"Of course," she nodded, "I've got a guest room you can use for as long as you need,"

"Thank you, Molly,"

"Of course," she repeated, "absolutely,"

"Okay, let's get started," Sherlock turned to the microscope and began to continue working.

It was several hours before the concoction was finished and Molly and Sherlock had shared very few words between them that didn't pertain to checmicals and mixtures.

Molly extracted the clear liquid into a syringe, tested it, and capped it, "Okay, so after you fall just administer this and get you doused in blood, right,"

"Right," Sherlock was rolling up his sleeve and pulling a rubber cord around the top of his arm as a tourniquet.

"I can do that," Molly began to attach all the necessary things to draw blood.

Sherlock nodded and waited for her to link up all the vital tubes. She swabbed his arm with alcohol and steadied the needle, "Little pinch," she murmured and plunged the IV needle in.

There wasn't a word from Sherlock for a moment until the bag began to fill, "Molly," he murmured, "how are... I mean, are you... okay too?"

She gave a small smile and a laugh, "I'm just fine, Sherlock, bit worried about you missing the target, but otherwise I can do this,"

"No, I meant," he shifted on his stool, "since your attack, have you been alright?"

She nodded and smiled, "a few sleepless nights here a there, but I got away, Sherlock, nothing that bad happened to me and I'm alright now,"

"That's good," he nodded and noticed the bag had filled and Molly was removing the IV.

"It's almost five," she murmured, "I'll call Mark, you should text John,"

He nodded, "Okay,"

She pulled her phone out and dialed her friend, he picked up rather groggily, "Hello, Mark? It's Molly, Molly Hooper. Look, I need a favour from you and you can't ask why, but believe me I'll pay you whatever you want, and you don't have to do anything dangerous, or go shopping with me or anything like that," there was a pause as Sherlock looked over Molly as she listened, "Yes, okay, in exactly," she looked to Sherlock who mouthed 'forty-five' "forty five minutes I need you to phone this number,"

Sherlock watched her relay the plan to this unknown Mark and he felt a surge of relief flow through him. Part of him felt the urge to hug her, or at the very least buy her something to explain his gratitude.

"Thank you so much, Mark, I owe you," Sherlock shuddered at the all too familiar words as Molly hung up the phone.

"So we're set then," Sherlock stated and rolled down his shirt sleeve and put away his phone, "While John is here I need you to stay,"

"Right okay, I'll keep quiet and in the next lab over, he won't even know I'm here," she smiled.

Sherlock didn't return the expression and looked down at his hands

"It'll be alright, y'know," she murmured, "I can do this, and so can you."

He nodded and looked up at her, "he wasn't far away when I texted, you should go,"

She grabbed up the packet of blood and the syringes, cleaning off the evidence of their work and pulling her bag along with her into the next lab over. She watched as Sherlock kicked his feet up on the table and leaned back to receive John.

When he arrived Molly could hardly hear their conversation and Sherlock hadn't yet moved. Finally he sent a text, and they settled down to wait.

Molly felt herself drifting to sleep, her head pressed against the door when John's phone rang clearly and startled her awake, this was it. In an hour or two Sherlock would be dead to the world, and Molly had to ensure it. Her stomach began to tie itself in knots.

"Busy?" John's voice came through the door as he got closer to it and she felt the anger rising in his voice.

From then she could only hear different parts of the heated conversation between Sherlock and John, moments when he raised his voice clear enough for her to make it out through the thick door.

"She's dying!" John had shouted, the plan was working so far, "You machine!" Molly cringed at the words.

There was a pause and she watched John go to the door, "Friends protect people!" he had shouted back. Molly felt certain that she had to do the rest of this right, she had to save Sherlock.

Sherlock jumped up and buttoned his jacket, grabbing his heavy coat on the way to the door, Molly pushed through the lab doors, "Good luck," she said quickly, "I'll be waiting,"

He gave her a smile smile in return, a single nod, and then went out to meet his fate. Molly gathered her things, righted herself as best she could and then went out to sit up against the truck tyre, there wasn't much time to waste now.

As Molly waited, the bag of blood in her hands, she heard a sharp pop. Gunshot... _this was not according to plan._ Molly's stomach churned as she looked up at the edge of the roof, where was he? She started to pray, desperatly clinging to any hope that the bullet did not hit Sherlock, that their plan could continue.

A black clad Sherlock was suddenly stepping up onto the ledge, his mobile in his hand. Molly let out a breath she had been holding and peered round the tyre to get a glimpse of John, clearly on the phone with Sherlock, looking distressed as he looked to the sky. It was time.

Molly tore the top off of the blood bag with her teeth and uncapped the syringe, thankfully there was no one directly around the point of impact to see her preparing, but to any far away on looker it simply appeared she was rustling through her large striped bag.

"Sherlock!" she heard John call loudly and she looked up to see the phone drop from his fingertips. Molly tipped the bag of blood onto the pavement and saved a bit to pour over his body post-fall. Gripping the syringe properly in her finger and thumb she looked up again and saw him leap, floating down almost gracefully.

As he fell into the basket of clothes and bedding behind her head she heard the bike collide with Watson, and Sherlock fell before her, squarely onto the blood.

He was breathing heavily but she took very little notice and jammed the syringe into his thigh, pressing the plunger and then pouring the remaining blood onto his head and hair. There was no time to hesitate and she stood quickly, hiding the empty blood bag and syringe in her coat sleeves, "Oh God," she said sincerely and became just another woman in the gathering crowd around his body.

There wasn't much time so she faded into the background and made a dash for the mortuary.

**A/N: Reallllly long Reichenbach chapter, I know, I just didn't feel comfortable putting a break in anywhere. Review if you enjoyed it, I certainly hope you did. And obviously, there is a large chunk of dialogue that is from Reichenbach, and not from my own head. Purely to help it flow through the episode, either way, hope you liked. Continue on to Chapter Four if you so wish! **

**x**


	4. The Game Is On

**A/N: Here's chapter four for you, another smallish necessary but transitional chapter. Hope you all enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Mofftiss. Also, I dont think this is really how Sherlock got out of dying, but I couldn't come up with a Moffat worth mindfuck, so I went with this. I hope you like it.**

Washing Sherlock's blood off of her hands was a strange experience for Molly. She was shaking all over, trembling from the core outward and trying to keep her mind steady. What if they used paddles to shock him? Would he wake? It was doubtful that they would take that many extrodinary measures on a jumper, it was clear he was dead as long as the chemical concoction went as planned.

She pulled on her lab coat and gloves and waited for the phone call. Finally there was a tone and she picked it up, "Dr. Hooper,"

"Hi Molly," a woman's voice said, "Look, we've got a fresh body coming down to you, you wouldn't believe who it is," there was hardly a pause, "Sherlock Holmes! That detective that's always skulking around here, he jumped off the roof, died instant on the spot. Terrible mess he made,"

"That's absolutely awful!" Molly made all the right vocal inflections and waited.

"He'll be down in a few minutes,"

"Thanks," she murmured and hung up the phone.

Her stomach knotted up as she opened the door for the body to be wheeled in. She signed the ticket from the orderly and slid him onto the examiner's metal table, his body still warm, thank God.

When they were finally alone she unzipped the black bag and looked at his still face, "Oh, Sherlock," she almost felt like crying at the sight of him, but she knew there was no time.

Pulling the zipper down the length of him she paused, looking at the scarf wrapped around his neck. It was the one she had given to him for Christmas... to her dearest Sherlock, Love Molly xxx. She smiled slightly and turned to grasp the bowl of warm water and washcloth so she could wash the drying blood off of his face.

This was the closest she had ever gotten to Sherlock Holmes, cleaning off his blood, and her knotted stomach still hadn't loosened at the thought. Finally when his face and neck were free of blood and his hair was somewhat fixed she settled into a chair and waited.

It only took about twenty minutes after that for Sherlock to begin to stir, his fingers flexing and his ice blue eyes opening. He took in a gust of breath and coughed soundly.

"Sherlock, Oh good," Molly stood and took his hand out of instinct.

He gripped it fiercly and sat up, "Molly it worked, we did it,"

"I know, I know, I heard the gunshot and for a moment I thought it might be all over, but you're here now, everything worked,"

"Moriarty shot himself," he said calmly, swinging his stiff legs over the side of the table.

"Oh God," she murmured and covered her lips with her free hand.

"And John belives that I'm dead?" He asked

"Yes, everyone does. It's the talk of the hospital," she nodded and as he jumped down their hands broke apart.

"You did brilliantly Molly," he smiled at her, "Everything else is taken care of,"

She nodded, "Now what?"

"We've got to get back to your flat," he looked around, "Where's my coat?"

She looked by the door at the red 'bio hazard' bag, "There, they brought it with you. It's probably got some blood on it, Sorry,"

"Quite alright," he pulled it out of the bag, "Looks fine for now,"

"Little dry-cleaning," she laughed nervously and pulled her lab coat off and her coat over in it's place, "Now, let's get you back to my flat,"

"Sounds perfect," he pulled on the coat and adjusted the scarf around his neck.

He looked a little worse for wear, but essentially the good-old Sherlock Holmes. She smiled and grabbed her bag, "Out this way,"

And he followed her home.

**A/N: Very short, I know, I know. Either way, I hope you liked it. This is all that I have written so far, and if I get positive feedback I will surely write more. **

**I have a definite plan for the story so I hope I get time to sit down and write it and let my thoughts play out. The Sherlolly romance will come in later, I promise, but I really don't think Sherlock would all of a sudden be open to romance with Molly. It needs to take time, and now that she's completely risked her life for him and done everything for him without question I think that possibilty is there. **

**Review please, and I'll update as soon as I can!**


	5. Investigative Journalism

**A/N: Hello again! So I got a bunch of fantastic and encouraging review to continue after I posted this last night and this morning I went on a writing rampage. A few chapters to post! I can't stop! Thank you all for your kind words, I love you all. **

**Disclaimer: Yes I own this story, but all Sherlock and company belong to ACD and Moftiss (sob). **

Molly was fixing a pot of tea for herself and Sherlock when the phone rang, she glanced at caller ID, John...

"Sherlock," she pulled the kettle off the stove and sat down on the couch next to him, "it's John,"

He stiffened, "answer it, then,"

She clicked the green button and pressed the phone to her ear, "Hello?"

"Molly, it's John," he sounded positively numb.

"Hi," she answered weakly, "Are you... alright? Can I do something for you?" she looked up at Sherlock who was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees and his palms pressed together, pensive.

"I'm..." John tried but changed tactics, "I need to ask you something,"

"Anything,"

"Before he... did Sherlock talk to you? He mentioned your name before he... did you talk to him, Molly?" he sounded lost to Molly as he spoke.

"No, John," she felt tears welling in her eyes at the sound of John's voice, "I'm sorry, John,"

"Are you sure?" John's voice wavered.

"I'm sure John," she pressed a hand to her lips, trying not to cry.

"He said some things to me before he fell," John's voice sounded far away, distant and crackling, "he said that he was a fake, that he made up everything, including Moriarty,"

"You know that's not true," Molly interjected, "Sherlock is- Sherlock was a brilliant detective, a brilliant man,"

"He's being exposed as a fraud in the tabloids," John murmured, "but I'll never believe it, Molly can you believe it?"

"Never," she murmured, glancing at Sherlock and feeling her throat go tight. He was staring her down now, his eyes shining at the sounds of their voices.

"What am I supposed to do now?" John asked wearily.

"Don't think about that now," Molly suggested, trying to keep her cool, "You need sleep, you need... rest, we all do,"

"Moriarty's dead too," John murmured, ignoring her suggestion, "put a gun in his mouth and shot himself,"

"Oh," she managed, unsurprised at the news.

"Oh Jesus I'm just..." John hiccuped a sob

"I know, I know," Molly murmured, "I am too," she lied, "do you want me to come over? Do you need something? Anything?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and while he wanted to console John, something in him wanted Molly to stay here with him. He needed her too.

"No," John murmured and Sherlock felt relief flood him, "I just need to be alone, I just wanted to... to ask you that,"

"I understand," Molly took a breath, "if you need anything at all John, call me, I'm always around,"

"Thank you Molly, will do," and John hung up, his voice still heavy with sadness.

Molly put the mobile on the coffee table and let her head sink down into her hands, "Oh, Sherlock," she murmured, "what are we going to do?"

"I hadn't got this far yet," he confessed, "I think... I just..."

Molly looked up and turned to him, "I understand," she stood to finish their tea and returned with the two cups.

He was leaning back now, fingers massaging his temples, "Molly the things I said to him,"

"To John?"

"Yes, to John," he sighed, "I told him that I was a fake, that I invented Moriarty,"

"I know, he said so on the phone," Molly paused, "but he also said he could never belive that about you, and I couldn't either,"

"Why is it so hard to believe? The rest of the world does," Sherlock said.

"Because they don't know you," Molly sat down on the other half of the L-shaped couch, "Not like John does, not like I do. To them you're a magic trick, a flavor of the month, but to us... you're incredible. I've seen the way you work, and I admire you. You're an arrogant, self-righteous git sometimes," she touched his hand gently with her fingertips, "but I believe you and I trust you because you've proven to me that I can,"

"Molly, when I asked you if you would help me even if I wasn't who I said, you said yes without question... why?" Sherlock was still puzzled by her unwavering faith in him.

She looked down and retracted her hand, "Because, I love you."

There was a stillness but she continued, "And I'm not saying that to scare you away or because I expect something out of you, but it's true, I do love you because of everything I've seen you do, all the lives I've seen you save. The things you did for me after I was attacked just confirmed it, you say you have no heart but I know you do, and you're stronger for it."

Sherlock's gaze didn't break from hers, but he merely nodded, "It would be easier if the two of you believed the lie,"

"You know we can't," Molly murmured.

"It would still be simpler," he confessed, "I would be half way to Istanbul right now if it wasn't for you all anchoring me here, I want to go... but I can't,"

"Sherlock, you're allowed to care about people," she sighed.

"I know," he snapped. He laid down on the couch and let out a deep sigh.

Molly leaned back into the cushions and looked at the wall, "I'll need to get you some clothes, and get some more food into the house if you're staying,"

"Mmmm," Sherlock murmured in agreement.

"I'll do that tomorrow," she sighed and looked at the bright light of day peeking through her blinds.

"Mm," his agreement was quieter and she looked down at Sherlock. He was clearly falling asleep.

Molly grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and spread it out over him gently and smiled at his peaceful face, something very few people ever got to see, she imagined. Returning to the other half of the L couch she settled down into the cushions and let herself drift to sleep.

When she woke the sky was darker and the blanket that had covered Sherlock was now tucked around her gently. Molly yawned and folded the blanket back, smiling and looking for Sherlock who was seated in the darkness of the room and clicking away on her laptop.

"What time is it?" she yawned again.

"Half past four in the morning," he didn't look up from the screen.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Looking through the news," his eyes narrowed as he read something, "Moriarty's body wasn't found, just the blood."

"Do you think his people got to the body first, then?" Molly stood to get herself some coffee.

"In all liklihood, yes," Sherlock replied.

"I'll go out in a few hours, when the shops open and get some things," she clicked the coffee pot on, "you'll have to give me a list of things you'd want,"

"Fine," Sherlock said.

"Would you like some food? I'm starving," Molly opened her fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs and a slab of bacon.

"Two eggs over easy, light on the salt and a bit of pepper," he said.

"_Please,_" Molly murmured under her breath as she pulled out a pan.

"What did you say?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing, nothing," she sighed as she cracked an egg and mimiced what he had said earlier, "mental note,"

At the shops Molly bought a few shirts, a few pairs of pants, and an assortment of undergarments and socks for Sherlock. She had blushed profusely when the shop keeper asked if it was for her boyfriend and she hadn't really responded so much as sputtered out a negative.

She had been smart enough to take her own bag to pack the clothes into so she wasn't seen around town buying men's pants, and then went down the street to the grocer's. She bought everything on Sherlock's list and a few things for herself, sighing as she scanned her credit card and mentally subtracted the numbers from her bank account. Fantastic.

Heading up to her flat she had bags weighing her down and she was fumbling to get her keys out of her pocket for the front door.

"Miss Hooper!" a man's voice called and she turned at the door, still searching for her keys.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Miss Hooper, I'm a reporter from The Sun," he smiled, but she didn't trust it, "I understand that you were colleagues with the late Sherlock Holmes, and I was wondering if you could comment on his death, what you were feeling, your opinions, anything,"

She narrowed her eyes and turned to the door, "Piss off,"

His hand outstretched and gripped her arm forcefully, nails digging into her arm, "Miss Hooper, I asked you nicely,"

She turned, the bags heavy on her shoulders, but his nails hurting her arm more. "I said, piss off. Now, get your hand off of my arm and get off my front stoop,"

His hand tightened, "I just want a simple comment for The Sun,"

"No you want a story, or a scoop, and I'm not the girl to give you one. Now take your hands off me or I will call the police," she was finding strength and anger in her voice that she had never really had before.

His fingers released slightly and he dragged his nails down her arm before letting her go completely, "Fine then, have a nice day, Molly Hooper,"

Without another word she stuck the key in the lock and pushed up the stairs to her flat. Opening the door she dropped the bags down and slammed the door with her foot, startling Sherlock slightly, "Why do men think they can walk all over women? What is that? A power thing, Jesus," she dropped her scarf and dragged one of the food bags into the kitchen, brisling with anger.

"Molly," Sherlock stood and watched her fiddling in the kitchen, "What," he saw her arm then and his eyes narrowed, "Who touched your arm?"

"He said he was a journalist for The Sun, asking me about my feelings after you death," she scoffed.

As she stuffed various greens into the fridge Sherlock watched her and smiled slightly, he had never seen Molly angry and it was rather funny. He replayed what she said in his mind and sobered, "What do you mean, 'said he was a journalist',"

"He obviously wasn't one," she sat down against the linoleum and looked up at Sherlock, "his clothes were too expensive and he wasn't even trying to take down what I said, and he didn't show me any credentials. Proper journalists would know something like that,"

"Good Molly, what else?" Sherlock asked

"Expensive looking watch, polished shoes, cropped haircut," she listed, "and his voice was quite posh,"

"Hmmm," he thought a moment, "then he wasn't a journalist, but he is someone who knows about our connection, perhaps one of Moriarty's men, or someone new..."

"I don't think he knew you're here though," Molly said shutting the fridge and standing up, "but if I were you I wouldn't try and leave so soon,"

"I agree, Molly," he nodded and as she went to pass him to get the other bags he seized her wrist, "let me see your arm,"

She nodded and lifted her arm for him to apraise, "Nothing too serious, he just grabbed me a bit hard,"

"Yes, you're fine," he brushed off, "but he had short, manicured nails I'd say,"

She hummed a reply and waited for him to drop her arm before gathering up the other bags and starting to fix lunch.

To anyone else looking in, they seemed positively domestic as they moved around each other seamlessly and fixed themselves some lunch.

**A/N: Muhahaha, there you go. Look at them all adorably domestic, I can totally see Sherlock showing off his skills with a kitchen knife and Molly being totally bewildered. I know Sherlock might seem a bit more tender than he does in the show or in the original stories... but I feel as though after the ordeal of Reichebach and watching his life crumble apart, Sherlock would be very vunerable. He has a heart, he has feelings, he loves his friends, and Molly is just there to witness this and be a support shoulder. **

**Hope you liked, drop a review if you wish. **


	6. Risk

**A/N: This chapter is fluffy in my opinion... again, I think Sherlock's very vunerable here. Read and Review if you like!**

**Disclaimer: You already know it. **

"Sleep," Molly suggested, yawning and looking at Sherlock, "you've been on my computer all day,"

"Yes," Sherlock resigned, "perhaps you're right,"

"I know I'm right," she led him through the hallway, "I've got a guest bedroom you can use, sorry about the colour,"

Sherlock appraised the butter yellow room with the somewhat undersized bed but decided slight discomfort was better than death. He nodded weakly, "Molly," he turned to her, his eyes heavy, "thank you, for everything you've done."

She smiled, "I'm glad you trusted me enough to ask," she yawned weakly, "I need some sleep,"

She left him standing in the middle of the yellow room and she headed into her own bedroom. She shut the door and dropped her clothes, pulling on a pair of leggings and a loose coral tank top. Slipping into bed she was reaching for the lamp when the door opened.

"Molly," she looked up at Sherlock who was standing in the doorway, the new pajamas she had bought hanging off of him in all the right ways.

"Do you need something?" She looked up.

He cleared his throat, "that bed, it's too short for me, I'm much too tall,"

She sighed and stood, "You can sleep here, I'll take the small bed,"

"Nonsense," Sherlock said as he settled in on the other side, "that bed isn't fit for a child, you can stay here,"

If this were any other man Molly would fear he was making a move, but she checked er brain and realised this was Sherlock, if had been interested in sex he would have just said so. Besides, Sherlock was never interested in sex. She settled back in her orignial position and pulled the comforters up over them, "Are you sure you don't mind?" Molly asked.

"You don't bother me, Molly," he assured.

"Well, alright," she snuggled into her familar position on her side and began to drift, "Night, Sherlock,"

There was no reply as she floated into sleep.

When she woke one side of her body was deligtfully warm and her injured arm and cheek were comfortably resting on something warm and firm. Her eyes fluttered open and she sighed against what she now discovered was Sherlock's chest.

Her fingers flexed on his chest as she tried to figure out how she got here. She must have rolled onto him while they were sleeping, at the though Molly felt her face flush red.

Sherlock's chest was rising and falling rythmically and she didn't want to move her head from the comfortable crook on his shoulder where she had rested. She stilled suddenly when she felt Sherlock's hand brush through the length of her long, loose hair. If it were any other man she would have called the action intimate. Her heart was beating harder and she knew he must have noticed.

"Hmmm," she pressed her eyes closed, "Sorry,"

His hand ran down the length of her hair again, pausing to play with the ends, his fingers unconciously brushing her bare shoulder. "It's fine," he murmured.

"Sherlock are you alright?" her eyebrows knitted together, "I thought you would have pushed me off by now,"

Another brush of her hair and he hummed "you're quite warm,"

She laughed against his chest, feeling more comfortable around him than she ever had before, "So are you,"

"It's raining," he noted, glancing at the window.

"Cold," she agreed felt his warm breath as he sighed.

Normally she would ask him what he was getting at, what angle he was playing being so kind and intimate with her, but she knew that he was just missing home, John, his loved ones. So she allowed herself to indulge in the moment and rested her fingers on the top button of his nightshirt, twisting the plastic round in her fingers.

"I'm not sure what to do," he admitted, "I always have a plan, Molly, I always know the next step and the one after that but now I'm not sure," She felt the vibrations of his warm voice reverberating throughout her whole body as she weighed his words.

"Yes you do," she murmured, "you know you've got to lie low, keep an eye out for any sign of Moriarty and wait to tell John you're alive until you know he's gone for sure, because you're protecting him. By staying here, by keeping quiet, you're keeping him alive."

There was a pregnant pause and Sherlock finally said, "What about you?"

"What about me?" she looked up at him.

"You know I'm alive, you're in the most danger," he said.

"That's alright," she breathed, "I'm careful and I know the risks I'm taking, and I'm comfortable taking them,"

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but the phone rang shrilly on her bedside table. With one hand secured around her back to keep her from moving he stretched out and secured the mobile with the other and presented it to her.

"Hello?" she answered, knowing full well it was John.

"Hello, Molly,"

"How are you holding up?" she murmured, the room around her was silent except for the pattering of rain and Sherlock's rythmic breathing.

"I'm okay," he cleared his throat, "Wednesday is the funeral," he gave her all the necessary details.

"I'll be there, John, don't worry," she promised.

"Right, well I've got to go now," John said.

"I'll see you Wednesday," she murmured and the phone clicked off.

There was a pause as she dropped the phone on the bed and he spoke, "I don't want you to go,"

"Why?"

"It's not safe for you to go," his arm released her back and threaded his hand into her hair, "if any of Moriarty's men know our connection then you'll be in danger,"

"Everyone thinks your dead, Sherlock," she reasoned, "and besides, not going to the funeral, not showing up to work, staying here all day.. that would be the suspicious thing to do,"

He nodded, "You will take precautions,"

"Of course," she nodded against his chest, "but I'll have go, for John."

"For John," Sherlock agreed and let his eyes slip closed again.

Three days later was Sherlock's funeral. Molly had insisted to the others that Sherlock had wanted a cremation, just as she was told to do. When Mycroft finally agreed the body of a similar man in stature was cremated and put in an urn to give to John, a coffin was buried and a headstone of onyx laid atop the ground.

The morning of Sherlock's funeral Molly was running late, organizing all of Sherlock's private things and ensuring that everything looked legal and proper was taking a slight toll on her otherwise mundane life. Sherlock was seated on the couch, a laptop in his lap and a google search of his name shining on the screen. Molly was in her bedroom getting dressed, she had slipped on her sheer black tights, pulled on nicest black dress, and set her feet in toe-crunching black heels yet again. She was having a hell of a time zipping up the back of the dress and she groaned, exasperated she left her room and slipped into the living room.

"Sherlock, can you give me a hand?" she asked looking down at him.

"Hmmm?" he barely glanced up at her, his eyes fixed to a BBC news report about his death. _Reichenbach Hero Buried Today. _

"Can you, um, could you zip me up?" she turned slightly and flashed her open back.

He stood and leaned forward, feet planted but arms oustretched to zip her up. He easily drug the zipper upwards from lower back to between the shoulder blades and lightly brushed his fingertips over the back collar when he finished.

"The scar from the bite mark," she started, "can you see it?"

"Yes," Sherlock brushed his fingertips here now, tracing the teeth marks of the man who attacked her months ago, "pretty clearly,"

She sighed, "I've got a shawl, I should be alright," she muttered and grabbed it up off the couch back, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Better?"

"Yes," Sherlock sat back down and remained quiet.

"Are you okay?" she questioned.

He opened his mouth to say fine, but thought better, "it's my funeral, Molly,"

"I know, but you're not dead yet," she noted, "I mean, well, nevermind, I've got to go, "

"Look after John will you?" Sherlock said as she started for the door.

"I know, Sherlock," she smiled at him, "I'll keep an eye on him."

Shutting the door behind her she hailed a cab and mentally prepared herself, Sherlock Holmes was dead.

The service was quiet, John had given the eulogy and Molly found herself crying accordingly. Around her were Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Angelo from the restaurant on North Umberland Street and several other people Sherlock had helped during his time as a consulting detective. At the enterrment it was John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and herself, all silently crying.

Here, as she looked on Sherlock's fresh grave it felt very really. She couldn't quite believe she had slept a foot from him only three hours ago, and as she watched the coffin slip down into the ground she pressed a hankercheif to her lips to control the sobs.

John took a handful of dirt and let it slip through his fingers onto the lid of the coffin, "Goodbye, Sherlock," his voice broke. He straightened up and turned away from the grave, briskly walking away, tears clearly spilling over as he tried to contain himself.

Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade both dropped in a flower, and bid their goodbyes, turning and leaving.

Lestrade looked to Molly, "do you need a ride somewhere?"

"No, I just," she blinked, "I think I need a moment here, I'll get a cab,"

Lestrade nodded and left wordlessly, and as they disappeared through the graveyard and out of sight Molly allowed herself a quick cry. It wasn't fair that John had to believe Sherlock was dead, it wasn't fair that she had to pretend he wasn't with her at the flat every night. She wiped her eyes and looked up, a figure in black wavered behind some of the taller tombstones.

He wasn't supposed to leave the flat.

She briskly walked away, tossing her flower down as she went straight up to Sherlock. She shook her head and jabbed a finger in his chest, "You're not supposed to be here, it was dangerous enough for me, but you!"

He watched her with a cool expression and didn't satisfy her with a reply. Her hand opened and she leaned her palm against his warm chest, she swallowed a small sob, "What you're doing to him is unfair," he said nothing again, "he would keep your secret, he would help you stay hidden, he wouldn't have to believe you were gone,"

"Too much risk,"

"Damn the risk!" she put her hands to her face, "he's breaking and I can't even tell him..."

"No, you can't," Sherlock's voice was softening as he looked at the tear stricken Molly. Abruptly she leaned forward against his chest and let out a small whimper, "Molly, come now," he murmured.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, "it's just hard,"

A gust of wind blew against them and she shivered, Sherlock pulled the sides of his coat around her and wrapped her in a somewhat awkward hug, cocooning them in warmth, "I know it is," he replied, "but a few months from now John will forget, and he'll get a job and find a wife and do all the things he would have done if he'd never met me."

Molly stilled, "You are going to tell him, aren't you?"

"When and if I know it's safe to," Sherlock said.

"You better," she shuddered out a breath, "because I don't know if I can see him like this,"

"Neither can I," Sherlock admitted.

"I'll help you find Moriarty's men," she swallowed, "you let me know exactly what I have to do and I'll do it,"

"You've done enough already, Molly," she felt his breath on the top of her head, fluttering her hair.

"Oh sod what I've done," she said awkwardly against him, "I want to help and I will help, like it or not,"

"Okay," he nodded, "but you can't tell a soul,"

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied and for a moment she thought Sherlock's arms had tightened around her, but knowing her, it was probably just her imagination.

**A/N: That's all I've got for now! I hope you liked it, and again, I think Sherlock is just taking some comfort in Molly because he's hurting and she was the one who saw it. It would be pointless lying to her and saying he's fine when she's been able to see right through that. I'm not sure exactly what's coming up next, but probably a few chapters of Sherlock/Molly at home, hopefully some more fluffiness, some drama regarding Moriarty, and we'll see where it takes me. **

**Hope you enjoyed, drop a review!**

**x**


	7. Sleepless Nights

**A/N: Hey! Okay, I know I'm on an updating rampage, but seriously I cannot stop writing this. It's writing itself and my hands are just typing it out. This chapter is dedicated to rochellie98 because she/he said they might burst if I didn't write the chapter... to save their life, I'm posting this. ;) **

**Disclaimer: Moftiss and ACD wish they wrote this chapter. Just kidding. I wish I wrote series 2... I guess we'll have to compromise. **

Molly's mobile rang on the side table of the bed. She groaned and rolled over, six a.m. and her mother was calling.

She clicked on the phone and murmured, "Hello?" Looking over her shoulder she saw Sherlock, still sleeping, "Mum?"

"Oh, Molly! Did I wake you up?" Ever since she had moved to America her mother's accent was becoming more and more American.

"Mum, it's six in the morning, I know it's not late in California but," Molly said in hushed tones.

"Molly dear, are you quite alright?" her mother was calling more and more frequently since her attack nearly twelve weeks ago.

"I'm fine, Mum!" Molly kicked her legs over the side of the bed and tried to keep quiet.

"Molly," Sherlock groaned and rolled on his side to face her, "Who are you talking to?"

"Molly is that a man?" her mother said, flustered, "Who is he?"

"No, Mum, it's nothing, I have to... call you back later, were you calling for something important?" she looked over her shoulder at Sherlock's annoyed face.

"No, but who is he?" she repeated.

"Bye Mum!" Molly clicked the phone off and rubbed her eyes, "Sorry, Sherlock,"

He grunted a response, clearly annoyed at the abrupt wake up call.

She sighed and looked at the clock again. 6:07. She had to get up for work in an hour anyway, so she might as well get up now. Standing she crossed the room to the bathroom, "Getting a shower, Sherlock, go back to sleep,"

There was no response as she shut the door tightly and clicked on the hot water. Shedding her night clothes she rolled her sore shoulders and pulled herself into the spray. The past six weeks since the funeral had been insane for Molly. Sherlock's mood swings threw her for a loop everyday and she was just now getting a handle on them, one day he was bored, the next depressed, and the following completely friendly and playful. She leaned her face into the hot water and thought about the events of the past several weeks.

With the exception of two nights Sherlock had, without question, joined Molly in bed each night. For someone who enjoyed his solitude Sherlock was hanging onto Molly like a tether to life. She wasn't complaining, but it was certainly strange. She would often go to bed before him, curling up with a book, and he would come in after her about a half an hour later and settle down on his side. They never went to sleep holding each other or whispering intimacies but most mornings they awoke with limbs pressed together and shared a brief conversation before Molly made breakfast. It was becoming a comfortable routine and Molly was afraid to let it go once Sherlock left, as he inevitably would.

Molly was more in love with him than ever, but instead of stumbling over her words like a frail school girl she found that he was easier to talk to when she looked at him like a friend. She would go to work and he would settle in with her laptop to do research, sometimes she would come home and find him doing experiments on the kitchen table to which she merly shrugged at. At least he wasn't burning down the building while she was away.

They usually made dinner together, wordlessly preparing simple dishes to share unless Molly picked up take away on her way home. Each night Molly watched a bit of telly and Sherlock worked, occasionally he would read, but she found that he became quickly bored with being holed up in the house.

Molly worked the shampoo and conditioner through her hair and thought of their morning conversations. Sometimes he would confess something to her, how he was feeling or what he needed from her that day. Other times she would ask about past cases and he would revel in retelling the details, it was as close to deductions as he could get. He often unconciously twirled a piece of Molly's hair between his fingertips or brushed his thumb along her bare arm in these moments - something Molly was sure he was unaware of.

She saw that he was trying to retain human contact, these conversations were something he would have had with John, but now she was the only ear available. Each night when she returned home he deduced her, what had she eaten, what bodies did she examine, what chemicals did she work with, where did she go on her breaks? He claimed he was merely keeping up the skill but she knew that he was itching for a case.

Molly shut off the water and towel tried her hair and body before slipping on a terrycloth robe and quietly creeping back into the room. Sherlock was lying on his stomach, Molly's pillow gathered in one of his arms and pressed against his cheek. His hair was touseled and jutting out in all directions and his mouth hung open in a small and delicate 'O'. Molly thought she would never see the day Sherlock was in her bed, she had dreamed of it, of course, but somehow this was better.

She gathered up the day's clothes and slipped back into the steamy bathroom to dress and then crept out into the kitchen to start some coffee. It wasn't long after the smell of freshly brewed coffee starting wafting from the kitchen that Sherlock groggily came into the kitchen behind her half asleep.

"Morning," she greeted, careful not to set him off since he had been so abruptly woken up earlier.

He walked behind her, his fingertips grazing her lower back making Molly shiver, "You've changed your shampoo,"

She nodded, stopping herself from giving a long explanation.

"This is better," he noted and poured himself a cup.

"Thanks," she sipped her coffee and yawned, "I'm knackered,"

"Mmmm," he murmured noncomittaly.

"Want me to cook tonight or do take away?" She stretched her arms out in front of her and lightly bumped him with her forearm. The small kitchen didn't allow for much movement other than standing over the stove.

"Either," he shrugged.

"I'll make pasta, then," she went and sat on one half of the sofa, light streaming in from the windows across her face.

Sherlock was seated at the kitchen table glancing over his notes, he looked up at her and paused, cup of coffee half raised towards his lips. Her eyes were softly closed and her face was serene. He studied her makeup-less features and naturally waving wet hair, she only ever looked this peaceful when she was asleep. Sometimes he would watch her if he woke before her, the soft, silent breathing and expressionless face. Sometimes she would dream and her features would twist, eyebrows together in worry or pain - when Sherlock saw this he would gently wake her, and when she jumped away he would feign sleep until she settled back to sleep again. In this moment, yellow light over her face, he thought she looked as close to beautiful as he had ever seen.

"Sherlock?" she was staring at him, "Are you feeling all right?"

He cleared his throat, "What? Yes, of course,"

She took a sip of coffee and gave a small yawn, "Right, I've got to get ready for work,"

"Sure, yep," Sherlock watched he disappear down the hall and returned to his notes. Ridiculous, he shook off the idea and rationalized, it was just because he was living here. He wouldn't have these thoughts about Molly if he were back home at 221B.

Baker Street... Sherlock thought for a moment about John and how he was getting on, he wished he could go home to his old room and his old life of mysteries and deductions. When he looked up Molly was gone, he must have totally missed her leave, wrapped up in his thoughts. He shook his head and walked towards the back bedroom, her silky dressing gown was thrown across the bed and he grabbed it to return to its hook on the bathroom door before he got a shower.

He hung it but then paused, looking at the fabric with interest and finally succumbed to the urge, weighing the sleeve in his hand he stared at it and finally brought it close to his face and took in a long breath. It smelled of her, like rosemary and almonds and Sherlock found some kind of comfort in this, his persistent thoughts were somehow quieter.

Molly returned home a little earlier than usual to an empty flat. She went from room to room twice, "Sherlock? Sherlock where are you? This isn't funny!"

She wished he still had a phone so she could text him, but since she couldn't nervousness continued to well up in her stomach. Taking off her coat she hung it in the closet and sat down on the couch with a cup of tea, her hands were shaking. If he didn't return by midnight she would absolutely call Lestrade and get help, Sherlock would have never left for this long knowing it was unsafe.

17:00 became 18:00 and before she knew it she was staring at a clock that read 22:43. She hadn't eat a thing and was staring into her sixth empty cup of tea, none of which helped calm her nerves. She stood and began to pace, her stomach feeling positively sick as she waited for some word from him. Thoughts began to bubble up, what if Sherlock was actually dead? Moriarty still alive and kidnapping him? What if he just left without a word... tired of her company, sick of pretending to like her?

The door clicked open and a cold and damp Sherlock pushed it closed behind him. Molly ran into him without thinking, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek before shutting her eyes and breathing him in, "Oh God I thought you were dead,"

He placed a hand gently on either side of her, just on her lower ribs and waited for to stop babbling, "Molly I'm fine,"

"It's so late Sherlock, I thought... I thought you," she realised his stiffness and took a step back, "Something's happened?" Her hands still lingered on his shoulders as he looked up into his icy eyes.

"No, Molly," he shook his head, "I just went to the cemetary, John was there and then I walked around for a bit... he said some things I had to think about,"

"Oh," she slipped her hands from his shoulders the crook that the bend in his elbow made, "so you're not leaving?"

He gave her a confused glance, "No, of course not, it's not safe for me to yet,"

She nodded, "Right,"

"Are you quite alright?" he studied her tired eyes for a moment.

"Yes, I just, thought the worst and hadn't heard from you," she was suddenly acutely aware of his hands still resting on her sides, for the moment he seemed completely unbothered by their proximity, "Sorry,"

He gave her a small smile and looked in the direction of the kitchen, "Have you eaten?"

"Not yet," their arms dropped and she stepped towards the kitchen, "I said pasta didn't I?"

"You did,"

They ate a small, traditional pasta and sat in silence, both weary from the day. When the dishes were finally clean and put away Molly sighed, "I've got to get some sleep," she sighed.

"Mhm," he capped his pen and took a last drink of water before standing and heading into the yellow bedroom, shutting the door.

She nodded to herself and felt tears prickling at her eyes, "Right," she whispered to herself, "stop being so stupid Molly,"

Heading into the back bedroom she changed and slipped into bed, a few tears spilling over her cheeks as her mind finally shut down and sleep swallowed her up.

When Sherlock opened the door he noticed her sleeping form and slipped into bed beside her, looking down at her face which was illuminated by the moonlight from the window, he was suddenly confused. Tear tracks were visible on her cheeks and her usually peaceful brow was knitted with emotion. Sherlock made sure she was sleeping and then gently wiped away the residual moisture on her cheeks leaned towards her. The sensation her kiss had left on his cheeks an hour before was still burning fresh and he couldn't stop himself from returning the gesture. Pressing a soft kiss to her worried brow he watched her features smooth and laid back into the cushions to fall asleep himself. Just before drifting his fingers brushed against hers and he closed her small hand inside his, the busy thoughts in his mind quieting down enough for him to sleep.

**A/N: Bit more fluff happening here... I like writing their relationship slow, I already know how their story is going to end, but I'm enjoying myself getting them there. I think within the next few chapters we will see the return of Moriarty's influence (even from beyond the grave) and I'll try to bring this story back to ACD canon as best I can. I hope you all enjoyed it, please drop a review if you did so I get some more motivation to keep writing!**

**Sidenote - I hope you aren't seeing Sherlock as ooc... I feel as thought cooped up in this flat with Molly for six weeks might start to change his feelings towards her, and as far as sleeping in the same bed as her? Just to clarify, this is not a romantic thing (yet), it's Sherlock being 1. practical, and 2. self-serving - he needs comfort and Molly is the only avenue he can get it. The fact that she likes him sleeping there etc. is just a helpful step in the right direction for when the romance kicks in. Because I swear, it will happen! :) **

**Love you all! -x**


	8. Unknown Territory

**A/N: I know it's not that long, but it took a while to write. I was trying to get this just right... and it was a difficult scene to work through. I want to thank you all again for your kind reviews and to everyone who assured me that Sherlock is not ooc, thank you, I'm trying. :) He's a difficult one to write, especially with Molly. **

**Disclaimer: they own it... I do not, I'm sorry. **

Molly was flat on her back, hands pressed over her throat and cutting off her air supply. The man's weighy body was pressing down on her, knee on her stomach hands about her throat. She was seeing stars, trying to get in a gust of air, struggling frantically.

Her eyes snapped open, she was coughing and struggling for breath, fear shuddering through her.

"Molly," Sherlock's voice came to her, "Molly you're alright,"

She let her head lean back, struggling to for breath, and she realized she was cradled against Sherlock, her head resting on his shoulder with one of his arms around her, palm pressed against her stomach and the other under her neck. She had to still be dreaming, being spooned by Sherlock Holmes.

She wanted to laugh but her limbs were still trembling, her mind still full of fear, each time she blinked the image of being strangled assaulted her senses. She let her head sink forwards and she took a deep breath that shuddered out of her. Pressing her shaking hands to her face she murmured, "Jesus..."

Sherlock shifted to roll her slightly on her back and get a good look at her, "You've had a nightmare,"

She nodded and dropped her hands away, "I was doing so well at hiding them from you,"

"About what?" he asked, she needed to say it for herself.

"Being strangled," her breath was normalizing but her hands were still trembling, "it's ridiculous, the attack was months ago,"

"It's not," Sherlock murmured, "John often had nightmares about the war," he rolled onto his back, his hand slipping off of Molly's stomach and onto his own but the arm underneath her head remained comfortably.

"You miss him, don't you?" she murmured turning her head slightly to look at him.

Sherlock closed his eyes painfully but finally murmured, "Yes,"

"I'm sorry you have to be stuck here with me," she sighed, "I'm a poor substitute for John but I'm sure you'll be able to go home soon," Molly was still thinking about his coldness the evening before during dinner.

"You're not a substitute," he responded, "No one can substitute for John," his fingers brushed her collar bone as he turned to her, "but you are my friend, you've done a lot for me, and being here isn't awful. Boring, yes, when you're not here and I miss Baker Street, but I'm not stuck with you. I chose to stay."

Molly laughed briefly, "You're being so nice to me, I used to think you could never like me, I was so foolish,"

Sherlock studied her face as she spoke, staying silent and letting her continue.

"You used to smile at me and pretend to be nice to me so you could get into the morgue, and use the labs, and I let you because I thought you were brilliant and interesting," she stared upwards as she confessed this, "And sometimes I wonder if that's still what you're doing, I mean, I know you're not, you don't need to stay here... but sometimes,"

"Molly," he said, "do you know why I stay?"

"No," she whispered, trying to push away the self conciousness that was eating her alive.

He lightly touched her jaw and turned her face towards him, "For as long as I can remember my mind has never been silent, always thinking, deducing, calculating. When I started working with John, things became easier, he kept my temper in check and always took his time with me, eager to keep up, not many people do." She glanced down and back into his eyes as he continued, "Something about you quiets my mind, when I'm here with you everything is silent, I don't think about John alone at 221B, I don't worry about Moriarty and his henchman, I can sleep, I can... rest,"

Her mouth opened slightly and she studied his sincere features, "Oh,"

"Yes," he sighed, "it's a strange situation for me, I don't quite know where to go from here,"

"I understand," Molly swallowed.

There was a long pause and Sherlock's fingers slipped down to brush her neck, he felt her stiffen against him and his fingers stilled.

"Sorry," she murmured, her body started to relax and she let out a long breath, "I trust you, I do,"

He nodded and touched her jaw again, in the darkness of the room and in their close proximity Sherlock felt something shifting inside him that he had managed to bury years ago. He found himself leaning forward slightly, hovering above Molly and feeling her warm breath against his cheek.

"Sh-Sherlock," she tried to whisper.

He studied her face one last time before closing his eyes and gently pressing their lips together, his hand slipping into her hair and the arm beneath her neck rotating to bring her closer and cradle her against him. She was getting lost in this kiss, and although it started off sweet and chaste his strong arms were bringing her closer, his soft lips moving against hers. Something in her sobered and she pushed him back, "Sherlock, we can't,"

He looked puzzled, "Why not? You want to, I can tell - elevated pulse, dialated pupils, heavy breathing,"

"No, no, Sherlock," she extricated herself from his arms, "I want you, I do... but I always have, what's changed in you that suddenly you're interested in me? Not like a friend, or a confidant... but like this?"

Suddenly Sherlock wished he could talk this situation over with John, there was certainly something he was supposed say. He pulled himself out of bed, "What does it matter when it changed, Molly?"

She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning against the closed bathroom door, "Because it does, what happens when you go back to Baker Street? I've loved you for so long, Sherlock, and I've pushed it aside because I know the way you are. I know you have emotions, and I know you love people too, even though you hate to show it, but I think this would be a mistake,"

Sherlock took a step back and sank down, sitting on the edge of the bed, "I don't know what happens with us after I leave," he admitted, "but right now, I know that I want you, and I've never wanted anyone before like I want you now,"

She sighed and a tear snaked out of her eye, "Dammit I wish you weren't dead, because this complicates everything,"

He looked up at her, "I'm sorry,"

"Why do you want me?" she stared at him.

"I don't know!" he stood, pacing for a moment and then crossing the room to her, "You confuse me, Molly, and you see through me and when you're gone I miss you, and I never miss anyone, you're smarter than ordinary people and you care more than most," her breath was hitched in her throat as he worked this out in front of her, "when you were attacked I wanted to kill the man who touched you and I didn't know why then, but I know now. Lately I want to kiss you, all the time, and I'm someone who belives sentiment is... something akin to weakness," he swallowed and ran his hands over his face, "but you are more sentimental than most people I know and yet you are one of the strongest... so I don't know why I want you now, but I know that I do."

A smile spread across her face and she laughed.

"Don't laugh at me please," he warned, anger bubbling in his voice.

"No, no," she took his face in her hands, "that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me... I didn't know,"

"Yes, well," Sherlock cleared his throat.

Molly smiled at him and slipped her hands to his shoulders, "I should get back to bed, work in a few hours,"

He looked put out for a moment and sighed, "right, of course,"

She pushed past him and took his hand in hers, "Coming?"

A warm smile spread over his features like she had never seen before and he let out a hearty laugh, pulling her into a kiss and easing them back down onto the bedsheets. The kisses kept coming, his body lying comfortably heavy on hers as she allowed herself to get caught up in what used to be just a dream.

She giggled against his lips and broke apart, his head lolling down and pressing kisses on her neck, she wove her fingers into his dark curls and she murmured, "Sherlock, have you ever..."

"Hmmm?" he responded, continuing to press kisses along her throat and jawline

"done this?" she finished and he pulled back, pressing a quick peck on her lips and looking down, "I mean, you're a... really good kisser," she blushed, "but,"

He nodded, "When I was younger I saw what all the fuss was about," he admitted, rolling off of her and propping himself up on his elbow, "but I'm married to my work and I've never really wanted to until you,"

She nodded and leaned against him, pressing a kiss to his collar bone, "well," she unbuttoned the first two buttons on his nightshirt, elicting a laugh from Sherlock as she grew bolder and pressed kisses down his lean body, unbuttoning as she went. He sat up and pulled the nightshirt off, grasping the edge of her tank top he slid it over her head with ease.

She sat back on her heels between his legs and took a pause, anxiety springing up, it had been a long time for Molly and she certainly didn't expect this when she went to sleep the night before.

Shifting forward he gently took her in his arms, "You're lovely," he kissed the base of her throat and rolled them to lie down again continuing their hungry kisses Sherlock cupped her breast and felt her shiver.

Her head was spinning as they continued to kiss, small laughs shared between them as they started to learn each other's preferences. Molly slipped her hand up to brush his neck and lightly pressed the back of his neck as he kissed her, at the touch Sherlock let out a small groan of pleasure and her nails dragged gently up his back.

He shivered, "Molly," his breathing was heavy, his eyes had a satisfied glow.

Her leg hitched on his hip as she craned her neck and kissed him again, his hand trailing up the side of her leg and she felt heat pooling in her stomach as their bodies pressed closer together, breaking the kiss she bit her lip and gave a small moan, "Sherlock..."

He dipped his hand between them, down her stomach and rested on the hemline of her shorts, his eyes locking with hers and silently asking permission. She nodded and he slipped his hand under the waistband of her shorts, his eyes never leaving hers as he pressed his fingers to her warmth. Her breath hitched and her fingers tightened on her back, a blush flushing over her face and chest, he kissed her pink flesh and laughed at her reaction.

The alarm rang shrilly on the nightstand and Sherlock groaned, collapsing against her and slipping his hand out of her shorts and resting it against her stomach.

"Oh, damn," she flopped back.

"Can you miss work?" he suggested, his head still buried in her neck.

"God I wish," she kissed his bare shoulder, "but I really can't,"

He rolled off of her, "Go get ready before I keep you here,"

"Tempting," she raised an eyebrow but rolled out of bed and shut her self up in the bathroom.

She decided on a very cold shower and tried to calm her frantic nerves, why did it have to be a weekday? Standing under the chilling spray she rubbed her face and laughed to herself, this couldn't really be happening. She pinched her arm for good measure, yes, yes, it was real life.

Toweling off she headed into the bedroom, Sherlock was no longer in bed but she could hear him rustling around in the kitchen. She dressed quickly and blew dry her hair, applying minimal makeup and packing up her bag for work. When she was finally ready she headed out to see a cup of coffee waiting for her and a plate of eggs.

"Okay," she looked at the half naked Sherlock sitting in her kitchen eating, "who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Should I put on a shirt?" he teased.

"No, you definitely should not," she drank half the cup of coffee and ate quickly, continuously looking at the clock.

He was reading the paper, periodically glancing at over the top and studying her features.

"I've got to go," she murmured and put the plate in the sink. Grabbing her bag she leaned in and pressed a kiss on his lips. She stood back for a moment and shook her head. "That's different,"

He smiled and watched her turn to go, getting to the door she shook her head again, "Nope, you know what, no," she hustled back to Sherlock and kissed him fully, cupping his cheek and feeling him respond, tightening his hand on her waist. She broke away, "Okay, now I can leave,"

He laughed as she hustled out, nearly dropping her large striped bag, when the door shut he shook his head and ran his hands over his face, he was genuinely happy for the first time in a long time. He looked at the phone and wanted so badly to ring John, ask his advice get his opinion, tell him he was alive. Sherlock would not be able to last much longer.

Molly was giddy at work, almost too cheery to be doing post mortems. She had finished up a pathology report that morning and was waiting for a fresh body to come in. Apparently Lestrade had instructed special care be taken with him, they suspected a professional hit.

The body was wheeled in the traditional black bag and Molly popped in a piece of gum before washing her hands and pulling on latex gloves. Pulling down the zipper she looked at the clear headwound and made some notes. Dragging the zipper down further she saw large letters drawn in felt tip marker on his chest. She couldn't hold back the scream as she collapsed against the cold wall and covered her mouth.

_Love Moriarty, xxx_

Her stomach churned. Closing up the bag she slid him into one of the freezer wall slots and grabbed her cell phone, dialing her home number and pulling on her coat quickly. There was no answer. She dialed again and waited, let the ringing continue as she made her way back to the flat. Finally the receiver raised, silence greeted her.

"It's Molly," she said quickly.

"Molly? Is everything alright?" Sherlock's voice was startled that she took the risk to call.

"He's back," she choked out, "Moriarty's back,"

**A/N: BUM BUM BAH! This will be the last chapter I can post today, but hopefully tomorrow or the next day there will be another flood of chapters. I hope you didn't think their "moment" was too rushed, but I certainly didn't want them to sleep together so quickly. I think Sherlock needs some guidance from John before he jumps into something like that, and Molly needs to see how Sherlock treats her once he's back at Baker Street. **

**I appreciate all your reviews today (so so sweet!) and I hope you liked this chapter, if so, please drop me a review. :D**

**x**


	9. The Adventure of the Empty House

**A/N: Kind of lengthy chapter, partially written last night and just now. haha. :) First I just wanted to thank everyone who has been reviewing and saying the kindest things about this story. I'm always so nervous when I post a chapter and your reviews are the nicest and most motivational thing to read. **

**Special note for the anon, "Peppermione" who asked if I could please take a look at their Sherlolly fic: Absolutely! Just PM me with the links or something and I'd be happy to! If you haven't posted and you'd rather do it via email, we can do that too! I'd be honored to read it. **

**Disclaimer: Mofftiss and company own ****my heart**** Sherlock, not me. **

_ "He's back," she choked out, "Moriarty's back," _

Sherlock's blood ran cold, "Are your hurt Molly?" he stood, poised and ready to run to her if necessary.

"No," his body relaxed minimally and she continued, "He left a note, on a body, Oh God what if he knows,"

"Molly, focus now," Sherlock sat on the arm of the sofa and closed his eyes, "I need you to tell me what's happening,"

There was a pause on Sherlock's end as Molly tried to gather her thoughts, "I'm being ridiculous," she stated, "I'm going back to the lab, I'll have a look at the body again,"

He sighed in exasperation, "I should come,"

"No!" she protested, "I can do a post mortem, I... I'll call you back with results,"

"Molly," he started, "stay on the line with me,"

"How am I supposed to do a post mortem when I'm on the phone with you, I'm alright, I panicked a bit, but I'm fine," he heard a door open on her end.

"Speaker phone," he suggested easily.

"I will call you back in a hour or two," her voice was strong with resolve, "I promise,"

"Good," and she hung up on him.

Sherlock's heel was tapping against the floor, he suddenly felt like he wanted a smoke. If Moriarty was back he had made a grave mistake in confessing all those things to her, his stomach churned at the thought of Moriarty getting his hands on her now that he knew their connection. No more flirtatious Jim from IT, it would be vicious, he was sure of it. Sherlock's mind started racing again, but it couldn't be Moriarty - he watched him die on the rooftop, the back of his skull blown out in all directions. Be reasonable. He wanted to call John.

Three hours ticked by before he heard any word from Molly, as hour two passed he grew increasinly nervous. Instead of a phone call she pushed her way inside the flat and dropped her striped bag, "Sherlock," she was flipping on her iPhone and scrolling through the pictures, "here,"

He took the phone from her hands and carefully studied each image, the man's face, hands, feet, and various details in between. Finally he arrived at a shot of the note left in felt tip on his chest. "That's not his handwriting," Sherlock looked up and Molly let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive" he continued to study, "that's a proper shot, from the pictures I'd say air-rifle, what about the bullet?"

She reached over him and dragged the picture over to reveal the culprit. Sherlock hummed, "revolver? So it's a customized weapon made by an expert marksman, military training, steady under pressure,"

"Yes," she nodded, "This Mr. Adair was apparently found outside of a casino, but Lestrade didn't give me any more details,"

"What did you say his name was?" Sherlock's eyes locked on hers

"Adair, Ronald Adair,"

"Oh Molly," he clapped his hands and threw the phone at her, "this is just the thing,"

"Please don't say it," she sighed.

"A case!" he proclaimed.

"There it is," she leaned back onto the couch and watched him pull open her laptop and click through the dozens of bookmarks he had created over the past weeks of living with her.

She kept silent and watched over his shoulder as he worked until finally he came across the correct article that he had saved from today, "here, read this,"

"Ronald Adair, 54, was gunned down in what police are speculating might be a hired gun," she read under her breath

Before she could finish her sentence he pulled the laptop away and switched to another open tab, an article book marked from four weeks ago, "now this,"

She scanned the article silenty, her eyes widened as she read about Sebastian Moran, second in command to Professor James Moriarty, unfortunately free from custody when police lacked enough substantial evidence to convict him on. He was noted as a skilled ex-military marksman and ruthless killer.

"It seems someone's found us," Sherlock noted and shut the laptop.

She nodded, "He knows your alive,"

"And our connection," Sherlock stood, "this is good, very good,"

Molly's eyes narrowed, "Another psychopath is after your head and all you can say is good?"

"Do you have any idea what this means, Molly?" he smiled broadly.

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me," she looked up at him.

"It's time to go get John,"

Although they were holding hands as they walked to Baker Street, Molly noted that it was for speed and not affection as he pulled her along. Part of her wished that body hadn't come into the morgue, she might be at home with Sherlock now... picking up where they left off this morning. How awful, she thought, wishing for sex when Sherlock was going to be reunited with Dr. Watson, she was being silly.

"Nearly there," Sherlock murmured mostly to himself as they swung around the corner of Paddington Street, past where the boys had scraped her up off the sidewalk months prior and straight on to Baker Street.

Sherlock slipped his key in the outer door and stopped on the lower landing, "You'll have to go in first, tell him to brace himself,"

Molly nodded in agreement, she turned to mount the steps but turned back and pressed a small kiss to his lips first and squeezed his hand before letting go and knocking on the door to 221B.

"Who's there?" a voice called from inside

"It's um, it's Molly," she felt Sherlock's eyes on her as she spoke, "can I come in?"

"It's open, do as you like," John's voice came through the door.

She pushed it open and stepped inside, the flat looked exactly as it had during Christmastime only without the sparkling lights and tree. "John," he emerged from the kitchen with a cup of tea, "there's not much time, so will you please listen to me?"

His brows furrowed, "Course, Molly, what's up?"

"You should sit down first, and prepare yourself," John looked confused but took her facial expression seriously and decided to sit.

She leaned out the door and nodded, Sherlock took his cue and climbed the stairs. John's face started to pale even before Sherlock passed over the landing, the famliar footsteps were a signal. His tea dropped on the carpet and as Sherlock entered the room he shakily stood.

"Hello John," he stated simply and Molly shut the door and waited behind Sherlock for the scene to unfold.

"You bloody bastard," John went to take a step forwards but lost his legs and slumped back in the chair again, "you right miserable sod, I thought you were dead!"

"I know," Sherlock nodded, "I ensured it,"

John's face fell further and he gripped the chair's cushion in his white knuckled fist, "Why? You couldn't tell me? I wouldn't have told anyone!"

"I know John," Sherlock was fully aware he had to approach him delicately, "and I trust you implicitly but,"

"But what?" John dragged a hand across his weary face, "You can trust _her_?" He jabbed a finger at Molly to which Sherlock stepped between them.

"John, I warn you," Sherlock's voice was as cold as ice.

John's eyes squinted at him, realization dawning somewhere inside his brain but her quashed the thought immediately. John stood and although he was substantially shorter than Sherlock he had military training, if he wanted to hurt him, he could. "You've been gone," he started, "for weeks. Dead, for weeks. I was just starting to believe it too and here you are, waltzing back in like you were on holiday. Is there a case you need me for, suddenly? A body to examine? Tired of shacking up with Molly? No, Sherlock, you can get out of my flat,"

"My flat," Sherlock snapped back.

"Not anymore. You're dead, remember," John stiffened and wouldn't look away from Sherlock's eyes, "My name's on the lease. Now, get out of my flat,"

There was bristling anger between them, tension building until finally Molly cried, "Oh for God sakes Sherlock, stop being so proud and just tell him why you did what you did. You owe him that much,"

Sherlock's hand balled into a fist and John shot a dagger glance past his arm to Molly. She would have rolled her eyes but it probably would have caused a bigger row.

Molly studied Sherlock as he stood, imposingly staring down his best friend. She knew that he wanted John to be overjoyed at his return, an embrace and a pot of tea before they fell back into their normal rythm, it was obvious that he had trouble understanding why John was so angry. Molly waited and finally Sherlock's fist began to loosen.

"Moriarty was going to have you asassinated if I didn't jump of the roof of St. Bart's," Sherlock said quickly, "Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade too,"

John's shoulders relaxed a bit and he cocked his head, "I saw you fall, I examined your body..." realization flashed across his features and he took a step to the side to look at Molly, "so that's where you came in,"

"Yep," she smiled.

"So... what, chemical solution and a bag of blood?" he looked at Sherlock who merely gave a cursory nod.

"And why couldn't you tell me, exactly?"

"Not safe," he remarked, "too much risk involved, Moriarty's body was moved, Molly and I had no one of knowing if my plan had really worked. Until we were certain you couldn't be involved."

"You've been hiding at her flat this whole time?" he questioned, pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Sherlock nodded briefly and Watson's eyes flicked to Molly who blushed gently and looked at her shoes. John's previous instinct had been right, Sherlock's demenor towards her had changed - protective, though he was trying his best to hide it. There would be questions later, but John thought it best not to embarass Molly, he knew how much she liked him.

"So what's changed?" John asked, "is he gone for good, then?"

"Moriarty, yes," a smile played on Sherlock's lips, "his second in command, Sebastian Moran, seems to still be lurking about."

John nodded, "Which means you're here to...?"

"Catch him, obviously," They shared a grin like old times.

John clapped him on the shoulder, "I'm glad you're back,"

"Glad to be back," Sherlock took his familiar seat on the couch and appraised the flat around him, virtually unchanged.

"You're room is just as you left it," John noted, "I knew you'd be back,"

Sherlock laughed, "No you didn't,"

"A man can hope," John took his usual seat and they began sharing details about the Adair body.

Molly stood back, happy that they were friends again but feeling a bit awkward standing in the front room being ignored. Her phone dinged and she pulled it out of her coat pocket, nearly dropping it as she slid the unlock.

_New Message from [Blocked], File Download_

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion but she clicked the small blue button to begin the download. She watched the little bar at the top load and load until finally with a swooshing sound the files completed their download and picture after picture flooded her phone.

There were dozens of images of her: carrying groceries outside her flat, on her way to work. As she slid her finger across the screen the next image was from a long range camera that took it's image through the windows in her flat: eating dinner with Sherlock, watching telly, morning tea. Her stomach dropped as she saw the next set: in bed with Sherlock, wrapped in each other's arms, kissing, more than kissing, the goodbye kiss she had give him that morning, her shocked face as she ran out of the morgue, her and Sherlock climbing the steps of 221B.

Her hands were shaking, "Sherlock,"

"Not now, Molly," he said, continuing to explain the details of some plan to John.

"Sh-Sherlock," she repeated and he caught the waver in her voice, he looked up at her.

"What?" he stood and went to her, a hand gently gripping her upper arm and his eyes studying her worried features.

"We're going to need a better plan," she passed the phone to him and watched him as he flipped through each photo. His jaw set firmly and his eyes were growing dark.

"Yes, Molly, I belive we are," his hand tightened on her arm.

John studied their movements and started to deduce something of his own. He watched as Sherlock studied the images on the phone, all the while his thumb was gently rubbing a soothing pattern onto her arm. They stood closer together, and Molly no longer blushed and fumbled for words while in his prescence. The way Sherlock's body seemed to arch towards her was different too, he noted.

John cleared his throat and the pair looked up, "What's that," he nodded towards the phone.

"A scare tactic," Sherlock tossed him the phone and Molly let out a small protesting sound but sighed and resigned to let him see. Sherlock continued, "Which is hardly working,"

Molly nodded and as John studied the photos Sherlock allowed himself a moment to glance down at Molly and study her, silently questioning if she was alright. She nodded to which he gave her arm a gentle squeeze in response before dropping her arm and resuming his post on the couch.

She found herself growing bolder and decided to in the open arm chair, watching and waiting for a reaction from John.

"Right," he clicked the lock on her mobile and set it on the coffee table, "so he knows your both here,"

"He seems to know a lot of things," Sherlock noted and folded into his familiar thinking position: elbows on his knees, palms pressed together and pressed against his lips.

Molly was silently thanking God that John hadn't mentioned the choice few photos on the phone. There was one in particular of Sherlock kissing her throat and her face contorted in what she could only describe as bliss. She mentally blushed at the thought.

"Presumably he's watching us now," Molly noted and looked out the large windows that had once been blown in.

"Probably," John murmured.

"Guaranteed," Sherlock corrected.

There was a long pause before Molly looked up, "Sherlock what did that article say about Ronald Adair's death? Details about the shooter,"

Sherlock's eyes opened, "Skilled military marksman, most likely fired from the fifth floor of a building based on the trajectory and qualities associated with the wound,"

"Yes," Molly thought she was one-step ahead for once but Sherlock cut her off swiftly, "Molly I need you to go downstairs,"

"What, why?" she looked at him, incredulously, what had changed?

"It's important that you do as I say, ring Mrs. Hudson, tell her you popped round for tea," he hadn't moved an inch, barely glanced at her as he worked out an even more clever plan.

She wanted to question him but saw the seriousness in his eyes, "Promise me you're not doing something stupid,"

He gave a short noncommital laugh, "Molly you know me better than that, of course I am,"

"A girl can dream," she sighed and stood, retrieving her phone off the coffee table and taking a step back, "Sherlock Holmes, if at the end of this plan you end up dead again, be aware, I will kill you myself,"

He looked up at her and a smile flickered across his lips, "I have no doubt,"

When the door to 221B clicked shut John swivled his head to look at Sherlock, "What the hell is going on between you two?"

"It's nothing, John," he didn't want to have this conversation now.

"Those pictures didn't exactly look like nothing," John replied, quickly.

"An experiment," Sherlock shrugged, "nothing more,"

John shook his head, "I see the way you are with her, don't pretend she's nothing to you after she saved your life. If she meant nothing you would have let her stay, you're keeping her safe with Mrs. Hudson,"

Sherlock scoffed and lied, "She was underfoot,"

John rolled his eyes, "I thought you didn't do girlfriends, thought it wasn't your area," he paused, "married to your work and all that,"

"I am married to my work," he stated, still going over the plan again in his mind.

"Sure," John shook his head, "and having an affair with the pathologist on the side,"

"Please," Sherlock's jaw locked.

"Oh, I see," John started pulling strings, "did you need better acess to St. Bart's? Did she suddenly say no to all of your antics and you decided, 'What the hell?', a couple of shags and she'll let me right back in?"

Sherlock turned to John, gaze icy and murderous, "John, I advise you leave it alone,"

"Oh so more than just a couple of shags?" John was hiding his smile and picking all the right buttons to push, "was she good?"

"John!" Sherlock's voice boomed, "Don't talk about her like that, you don't know a thing,"

"Aha!" John grinned in spite of himself, "so it's love then,"

"No," Sherlock retorted, a little too quickly.

"Fine, you care for her then?" John tried a simpler word.

"I..." Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and let the words swim around in his brain for a moment. _Love... Caring... __**Sentiment**__. _He said the word sentiment like most people said Nazi, but as he weighed the words on his palate it started to sweeten.

"You protect her, that much I can tell, and even now you wish she were here," John noted and Sherlock looked at him, "you'd kill for her, die for her,"

Internally Sherlock was nodding, picturing the man who strangled her and all of the tortorous things he would have reveled to do. Outside Sherlock was still, to which John murmured, "Love,"

"I don't have time for love, John," he said.

"Then you better tell Molly that because she adores you," John stared him down, "and you feed off that- but don't lead her on, Sherlock, that is cruel. She doesn't deserve that, especially not from you."

There was a stillness and Sherlock gave a small nod, standing and grabbing John's mobile off the kitchen table. He punched out a quick text and dropped it back where it had been sitting a moment before.

"You said you've kept my room exactly the way it was?" Sherlock turned to him.

John nodded.

"Good," he clapped his hands and started back down the hallway, "there's a few things we're going to need."

Downstairs in 221A Molly sat quietly at tea with Mrs. Hudson, offering a few murmuring comments at her various stories and politely sipping the cuppa that she didn't really want. Her stomach was on edge and all she really wanted was to know Sherlock and John were alright.

Her text alert sounded again and she hurridely opened the message.

_Needed to know you'd be safe, don't go anywhere, I'll come for you when everything's sorted - SH_

She breathed a sigh of relief for the time being and went on chatting with Mrs. Hudson, she just hoped the case wouldn't take too long.

Four hours passed before she heard a word, she had maneuvered Mrs. Hudson into going through old scrap books to extend her tea visit.

Finally the door pushed open without a knock and Sherlock and John crossed into the room looking like their old selves, smiles on both of their victorious faces. Molly breathed a sigh of relief, a smile spreading across her features as she stood to hear the news.

Mrs. Hudson looked up, "Oh hello John, Sherlock dear," she stood up and headed towards the kitchen, "I'll just put the kettle on, get you boys a cuppa,"

Sherlock raised on eyebrow as he looked back at her and suddenly Mrs. Hudson stilled. Turning round abruply she cried, "Sherlock! You're alive!"

"I am, Mrs. Hudson," he nodded as she rushed over to appraise him, maternal care written across her face.

"But we buried you!" she said.

"Ah, but you didn't," he smiled, "I faked my death, Mrs. Hudson,"

She took a moment and then nodded, "I knew you were up to your old tricks, dying really didn't seem like you," she pointed.

This elicited a hearty laugh from him and he allowed her to hug him briefly, "It's so good to see your back, I suppose you'll be wanting to flat share again with John,"

"That would be lovely, Mrs. Hudson, thank you," ever the charmer, Molly noted.

"Easily done, dear," she smiled.

"If you'll excuse us, Mrs. Hudson, we have some business to attend to upstairs," Sherlock smoothed over and nodded towards the upstairs flat.

"Of course dear," she gave them all a smile, "Molly it was lovely having you over, you can pop by any time,"

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson for everything, it was lovely," Molly said sincerly and followed the boys upstairs into the flat.

One of the windows panes had been broken, glass shattered across the floor, and a wax dummy dressed up to look like Sherlock was lying on it's side on the floor, part of it's sculpted skull exploded into bits and lying around Molly's feet.

"Explain, please," she pointed around her.

Sherlock was almost giddy with the revitalized feeling of being back to work, to life, "The building across the street, do you see the fifth floor open window, just there," he brought her to the window and pointed, the other hand gently resting on her shoulder.

"Yes," she nodded and then it dawned on her, "Oh! Moran!"

"Waiting to make his move from the window. Fortunately with an ample enough distraction on the street outside and quick body exchange," Sherlock gestured between himself and the strangely serene wax figure on the floor, "John and I were able to contact Lestrade, explain my situation, and follow Moran into the abandoned house. The moment he shot he knew he had been beaten and Lestrade took him into custody,"

She grinned, "Brilliant,"

John was leaning back in one of the chairs, he held up a hand, "I think I'll call it, _The Adventure of the Empty House_,"

"Rubbish title," Sherlock mocked.

"Considering what's on your blog, I'd let me title my own entries," John laughed and it suddenly felt like the way it was supposed, the way it used to.

Molly yawned in spite of herself and looked at the time, starting to get late. She milled around for a moment and then crossed to get her coat, "Right, well I should be going, I'm glad to see you're both alright,"

"Goodnight Molly," John nodded and waited to see how Sherlock would handle the situation.

For a moment he seemed genuinely stunned that she should leave, but he followed her to the door, "Thank you for everything, Molly,"

"Course," she nodded part of her was desperately sad it was over.

"Yes, well," He watched as she wrapped the scarf Sherlock had lent to her so many months ago around her neck and buttoned her jacket.

"Right," she looked down and passed through the open door onto the landing, "I'll see you... when I see you,"

He nodded and then took a small step forwards, cupping her cheek in his hand and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, "Goodnight, Molly,"

She gave him a small smile, "Goodnight, Sherlock,"

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the latest installment! I know it ended on a bit of an awkward note with Sherlock and Molly, but how else was it going to end with John in the next room? ;) I have definite thoughts for the next chapter which will be up tonight/tomorrow. As soon as I can get a spare two hours to write it out. (After my essay on feminism, that is). **

**Also, I hope you all got the very obvious references to the Arthur Conan Doyle Story "Adventure of the Empty House" in which Sherlock returns. I thought it most appropriate to try and weave in the canon again, so I hope it worked out okay. :) **

**Review and make me terrifically happy!**

**-x**


	10. A Bit About Sentiment

**A/N: Like the shortest chapter ever, but it's pure fluff and smut. This one is definitely rated M, although it's not as hard core as some of the stuff I've read, and that was quite intentional. I don't normally write out these scenes, but I thought that Sherlock and Molly deserved it, so here it is. I hope it doesn't disappoint. **

**Disclaimer: Nope, nope, still not mine. **

His eyes were wide open and staring at the patterns in the ceiling as he waited for the nicotine patch to take effect. He glanced at the clock, 2 a.m. His bed was cold, his old dressing gown a bit uncomfortable, and his mind was racing wildly. Every time he tried to close his eyes he tossed, he turned, he opened his eyes back up and continued to study the ceiling. The patch was not helping him clear his thoughts and he pulled it off his forearm, tossing it to a remote coner of the room with a huff. He was exasperated, his fingers tapping against the cold sheets wildly, unsettling nervousness was sinking in his gut.

He needed Molly.

Throwing the sheets off and bounding out of bed he searched through the flat to locate John's phone. Finally pulling it out from under a book he typed his text and clicked send.

_Awake? - SH_

It took no more than two minutes for the quick reply.

_Can't sleep - MH_

He smiled to himself and tapped the keys again

_Come over - SH_

He could picture her now, throwing off her own blankets and running a brush through her hair, changing clothes into something warmer and pulling on shoes frantically before she sent her reply.

_En route - MH_

He dropped the phone back to it's location and waited, seated against the window that looked down over Baker Street, her flat was only ten minutes from here. He silently hoped she had been smart enough to take a cab. He listened to the sounds of the flat as he waited, small creaks in the wood from the age and the flow of the heating kicking on and off. There wasn't a sound from John's room and he suspected that he had put in ear plugs, Sherlock had been playing the violin quite loudly before turning in himself.

A dark cab pulled to the curb and Molly Hooper slipped out of it handing the driver some bills and hustling up the steps, she was eager. He watched as she fluffed up her hair and and steadied herself before pushing open the front door before climbing the steps.

He opened the door at the top of the steps and pressed a finger to his lips to signal her to keep quiet, wordlessly he disappeared down a corridor. She followed, creeping silently passed the closed doors and through the last one, Sherlock's bedroom. She pushed the door to click shut and looked at him, seated on the edge of the bed and giving her a crooked smile.

"I couldn't sleep without you here," he stated, as if he'd just listed any other generally acknowledged and proven fact in the world.

She let out a breath and let her coat drop to the floor by the door, "I couldn't either,"

She shrugged off her cardigan too and kicked off her shoes, his eyes watching her every movement, his gaze becoming hungry and predatory. She padded silently closer to him and his finger looped through one of her belt loops on her jeans, pulling her forward between his open legs, trapping her against his body.

He kissed her neck the way he knew she liked, and lighty brushed his fingertips up her arms, raising every hair and setting fire to her nerves. He was good, that much was obvious, and she hoped deep down that she remembered how to be good too. She used to be, but it had been a long time and she was nervous. She just hoped she would keep her mouth shut and not talk through it.

"Molly?" he unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders, kissing her collar bones.

"Hmmm?" she breathed, contented.

"Have I every told you," his hands ran up from her lower back, cold fingers making her shiver in anticipation, "that you have," he placed a kiss below her left collar bone and contiued down, "the most," kiss, "lovely," kiss, "breasts?" kiss, and snap at the back of her bra.

She laughed gently and ran her fingers through his hair to which he looked up at her smiled, letting her bra slip down off of her arms and onto the floor at their feet. He raised an eyebrow at her and suggestively bit his lip before returning to kisses, and then to soft nips of his teeth and tongue around her pert nipples. Where had he learned that? She gasped pleasantly and realised that he was wearing far too many clothes, her hands lowered and began to undo one button at a time. He secured an arm around her back and tipped backwards, gently lying them down. She sat up, straddling his hips now and undoing the final three buttons, dragging her tongue across his nipple she raked her fingernails down his chest. A groan of approval slipped through his lips.

He reached down and secured her by each arm, dragging her up across his body and kissing her firmly on the lips and rolling them over, her legs remained wrapped around him, and she crossed her ankles, bringing him down closer, her hips rolling against his. They continued kissing, but as he adjusted his position she could feel something hard against her stomach and she slipped her hand down, brushing him lightly and kissing Sherlock at the base of his ear, groaning gently to let the vibrations send a shiver through him.

He sat back abruptly and for a passing moment she thought he might leave her there, but instead he unbuttoned her jeans and peeled them off, leaving her nearly exposed to him. Self-conciousness left her suddenly as he took her knickers by each side and promped for her to lift her hips, pulling them down and off her legs slowly. He ran his hands up the sides of her legs from calf to hip and she grinned at him, comforably lying back on Sherlock's pillows, a slight arch in her back, her legs comfortably parted and bent at the knees.

He settled between her legs, his bottoms still not removed to her disappointment but he gathered her in his arms and pressed kisses to her forehead, eyelids, cheeks, nose, lips, fluttering them along her jawline and throat, "You're beautiful, Molly,"

Her heat flopped in her chest. In love, yes. Dreaming, possibly.

He felt her still and release a small sigh, he pulled back and hovered over her, adding a kiss to her mousy nose for good measure, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she smiled, "absolutely nothing," Heat pooled between her legs and she bit her lip, brushing the hemline of his pants with her fingertips, "except these are still on,"

He smiled down at her and laughed gently against her, slipping off his remaining clothes and rolling on a condom. Lowering against her he murmured, "Better?"

"Much," she murmured. She had forgotten how easy it was to enjoy this, to want this.

He pressed gently at her slick entrance and studied her face, asking silent permission.

Her eyes slipped closed and she nodded.

"No, no," Sherlock's fingers brushed the hair away from her face and he kissed her gently, "look at me,"

Her eyes fluttered opened and locked with his, and in own swift motion he was inside her. The sensation filled her up and fired off every nerve, her legs tensed against him and her mouth opened in a slight gasp, wildly blinking she got her breathing back and they started to move together. Slowly at first, adjusting to each other's bodies but soon they found a rhythm and Molly found herself gripping him tightly their breath hot against each other's skin. She buried her face in his shoulder as she felt the familiar sensation buildling in her stomach, flooding through her body.

"Sherock, I," she managed against his skin, skin flushing.

He felt her chest against him as she arched her back, her head lolling back against the pillows and her contorting gently, biting down on her lip and letting her mouth hang open in a low moan.

That did it. Sherlock shuddered against her and collapsed, their slick bodies pressed together, breathing a series of gasps and chuckles.

He pulled out of her gently and rolled to the side, dropping the condom to the floor beside them and returning his attention to Molly.

Her eyes were still closed, but her brow was smooth and her lips were parted gently, her chest stammered out air, her body quivering and tingling all over. He had watched her all throughout and was now commiting this facial expression of serenity and contentment to memory. Her eyes opened slowly to a half lidded expression of satisfaction, her hand pressed against his chest gently, "That was..."

He dropped down onto his back beside her and nodded, kissing her shoulder and humming his agreement.

Sherlock turned gently on his side and spread his wide palm across her flat stomach, tracing patterns on skin, he watched as the blush that had spread across her cheeks and chest began to receed. "Molly," he murmured, "you're wonderful,"

She smiled and looked at him, gathering her courage she took a breath and answered, "I love you," she swallowed and looked down, way to ruin the moment. They hadn't even been on a proper date and here she was jumping into the love boat. Looking up at him took a bit more courage but to her surprise he was staring straight back, no furrowed brow and disgusted expression.

He kissed her softly but didn't reciprocate, after a few moments he brushed his fingers through her hair and stroked his thumb against her cheek. She absently wondered if anyone else had seen Sherlock quite this vulnerable before.

"I care for you, Molly," he murmured, "I don't believe that I can love, not really, but I care, and I want to keep you safe,"

The honesty was better than an empty _I love you too - SH_. She nodded and kissed his lips gently, "That's good enough for me," she settled her head against his chest and pulled the dark sheet around them as a chill washed over her. Her eyes drifted closed and she felt perfectly content to sleep against him, his arms wrapped around her.

When he breathing steadied and dropped into a sleeping pattern he brushed his fingers through her long hair and kissed the top of her head, "I..." he murmured to her sleeping form, but closed his mouth and and fell back into a comfortable, thoughtless sleep.

The following morning John woke up late, expecting Sherlock to be busying himself about the flat like normal he found no trace of him. He was usually up so much earlier than this.

John pushed lightly against his bedroom door and peered inside just to make sure the day hadn't been a total dream. John's mouth dropped open briefly as he looked on the sleeping figures of Sherlock and Molly wrapped up in the same sheet, Sherlock's arm protectively across her and her hand resting gently on his chest. Silently shutting the door John went off to cook them all breakfast, a knowing smile plastered on his face.

**A/N: Yup, there you go. I think this fic is almost over, a chapter more and I'll be ready to close it down. The GOOD news is, I would very much like to write a sequel, a bit of domesticity between Sherlock and Molly as he continues to solve cases like a madman. Writing Sherlock as a growing character is really fun, and I intentionally made him much more tender in this chapter, I hope it didn't disappoint. **

**Review please if you liked it! **

**-x**


	11. The Return of Sherlock Holmes

**A/N: Here it is! The final chapter! Don't worry, I will be writing a sequel this weekend! I'll post some more information about that later. For now, read and enjoy and please drop me a review. **

**Disclaimer: Mofftiss, nuff said. **

Two days after the return of Sherlock Holmes his face was plastered across newspapers and tabloids across London, _Suicide Faked to Catch Criminal Mastermind_, _Reichenbach Hero Resurrected, Sherlock Holmes: Fraud or Fantasy?, We Believe In Sherlock Holmes, _the list went on.

They were littering the flat, spread across tables and and Sherlock's couch, for a man who claimed not to care about his public image he was certainly commited to reading all of it. Research, he called it.

The moment John had left for the shops Sherlock wasted no time in getting Molly back into the bed they had recently left. She was now lying against his dark wood headboard, a satisfied glow about her and Sherlock languidly lying between her legs. His head rested on her chest, one hand knotted in her hair and the other resting in the arch of her back.

"Where," she panted, "did you learn that?"

"Molly, I have a vast amount of knowledge on human anatomy," he smirked, "pressure points, erogenous zones - knowing how to implement that knowledge is implicit,"

She grinned down at him, her fingers running soothingly through his hair, "You're incorrigible,"

"But you like it," he murmured.

"Yes," she agreed, "very much," briefly remembering what he had just done with his tongue. She shivered and stroked his bare forearm.

He glanced at the bedside table and rolled off of her, pressing a kiss to her swolen lips and saying, "John will be back in ten minutes, I'm assuming you'll want a few moments to make yourself presentable,"

She shook her head and sat up, running her nails along his chest lighly, "I don't look presentable now?" she teased.

"You look ravishing now," he kissed her.

"Good answer," she murmured and giggled lightly against his lips. She broke away first and grabbed Sherlock's dark coloured shirt off the floor, slipping it on and buttoning it up quickly.

Sherlock loved the look of her in his shirts, and smiled, watching as she rolled up the sleeves and pulled on a pair of knickers and leggings. She stretched her arms out and weaved a plait through her hair, "Hungry?" she asked.

He nodded, "Whatever you're having," he said as he put on some clean clothes and followed her out of the room.

She pulled out a pan and started to fry a few eggs while Sherlock took his familiar place on the couch and opened the laptop, presumably reading John's newest blog entry.

John was three minutes later than Sherlock had guessed, not a typical occurence by any means, and as Molly put the eggs on plates and delivered Sherlock's to him, she quickly saw why.

John Watson was coming up staircase with another man in tow, smartly dressed and carrying an umbrella though the day was dry and sunny outside. Sherlock noticeably stiffened and crossed his legs, his fingers drumming on the couch back, eggs untouched.

"Look who I found outside," John said and walked past Molly to put the groceries away.

"Brother," Sherlock nodded curtly to him.

"I see you're not dead," Mycroft responded with a leering smile, "Mummy will be so pleased."

Molly took an awkard step away from Sherlock and looked between the two of them as they spoke.

"Yes, well, send my regards," Sherlock stated without feeling or inflection.

"I always do," Mycroft spun the umbrella around in his fingertips and glanced at Molly, the glance he gave her felt as though he had completely undressed her for inspection. Now she could see the resemblence. Mycroft began again, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your," he gave her a once over again, "friend?"

"Mycroft, Dr. Molly Hooper," Sherlock waved his hand between them, "Dr. Hooper this is my brother Mycroft,"

"Nice to meet you," she spoke first and Mycroft's head turned slighly towards her.

"Charmed," he nodded.

John came back into the room and stood by Molly, finally glancing her over too and realising it was the shirt Sherlock had been wearing before he left. The state of her hair, and the wrinkled state of the shirt indicated sex, it was obvious. Molly shifted uncomfortably in the tense silence and John opened his mouth to say something.

Mycroft got there first, "So now that you're back I assume you'll return to playing Detective?"

Molly's jaw tigthened at this, _playing_ detective? Sherlock smirked, "What's the case?"

Molly understood now and Mycroft gave her a cursory glance before saying, "The information relevant is of a time sensitive and private nature,"

Sherlock folded his hands, "Not interested, Mycroft,"

"You'll be paid handsomly," he said.

Sherlock shook his head, "Good day, Mycroft,"

Mycroft resigned and took a step towards the door, "If you reconsider, you know how to get in touch,"

"That won't be necessary," Sherlock smoothly replied.

"Yes," Mycroft looked to John and Molly and nodded a polite goodbye before heading down the steps, his shoes clicking against the wood as he went.

There was a long pause before Molly murmured, "So that's you're brother,"

"So it would seem," Sherlock replied and though his shoulders had relaxed and facial expression cleared the distance between them still hung thick.

In the company of others Molly was suddenly Dr. Hooper, held at arms length and she suspected he would have had little trouble chastising her like a child if she had chosen to speak. She grabbed his plate of eggs and slid them in the bin, the traditional post-coital meal seemed pointeless now.

John followed her into the kitchen, "You okay?"

"Fine," she sighed, "but if this is how I get treated when we're not in private..." she trailed off and ran a hand over her messy hair.

"It's just Mycroft," John told her, "they have a complicated relationship,"

"Obviously," she muttered.

"You know you've got to take your time with Sherlock," John reasoned, "he'll have trouble being affectionate, or nice in any way really, outside of his comfort zone,"

She nodded, "I know,"

"Give him time," John urged again.

"You know I will," she sighed.

Sherlock's mobile rang and broke through the conversation, "Lestrade," Sherlock stated simply.

"Really?" Sherlock said, "What's the address?" there was a pause, "I'll arrive shortly, try not to let Anderson destroy too much evidence before I get there," The phone clicked off.

"John, this is brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed, "three bodies found headless washed up on the edge of the Thames,"

John gave Molly a smile, "There we go,"

She couldn't help but grin at his excitement as he threw on his coat, "John, let's go,"

"Right," John grabbed his mobile off the counter.

They were en route to the door when Sherlock turned and crossed the room to Molly, "Can you be at the morgue in an hour? I'll need you to do analysis on the bodies,"

"Course I can," she shook her head smiling, "Now off with you, solve another case,"

"Always do," he grinned back at her and in one swift motion held her steady with one hand on the small of her back, and kissed her forehead.

With that they bounded down the steps and out to catch a cab, Molly shut the door and turned the lock. Heading for the shower she heard her phone buzz with a text message.

_If convienant, wear my shirt. - SH _

Molly laughed, incorrigible was right. Another text sounded.

_If inconvienant, wear it anyway. - SH_

She rolled her eyes started to walk back to the shower. Another ding sounded and she looked down at the text.

_Very sexy. - SH_

She clicked the phone off and tossed it on the counter, chucking to herself as undressed - seeing Sherlock Homles was going to be a handful.

**A/N: I can't believe it's over! It's been a whirlwind. But I promise, Saturday there will be updates, perhaps even Friday night if I decide to pull a Molly and stay home with my laptop to blog. I hope you all enjoyed it, please leave me a review if you can!**

**Next fic is going to be focusing on Sherlock adjusting to their relationship and growing closer with Molly, I have a few twists and turns to throw in but I will obviously not be telling you those now. :) **

**Love you all and thank you so much for your kind reviews, I couldn't have written this without you! 3 **

**-x**


	12. Author's Note!

**Author's Note: **

**Hi Everyone! I know, this is not a chapter, and I'm not going to ramble on for 2,000 words thanking you all and blabbing on and on. **

**What I am going to do is say a short, thank you for reviewing you made this whole thing possible and I love everything you do for me!**

**Then I'm going to tell you to check out the first chapter of the sequel to this story, called "**_**The Domestic Analysis**_**" which is located on my page. :) **

**I hope you all end up loving it as much as you loved this, I'm trying my best to keep each chapter worth reading. **

**Lots of love, and lots of jam, **

**-x**


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